


All the Clintasha whump (31 one-shots)

by SophieRomanoff97



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. References, Angst, Avengers Family, Awesome Clint Barton, Awesome Natasha Romanov, BAMF Clint Barton, BAMF Natasha Romanov, BAMF Phil Coulson, Blood, Brainwashing, Canonical Character Death, Ceiling Vent Clint Barton, Clint Barton Feels, Clint Barton Made a Different Call, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Clint Barton-centric, Clintasha Week, Explosions, F/M, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt Clint Barton, Hurt Natasha Romanov, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra (Marvel), I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mind Control, Natasha Feels, Natasha Needs a Hug, Natasha-centric, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Phil Coulson Has the Patience of a Saint, Pre-Avengers (2012), Protective Clint Barton, Protective Natasha Romanov, Red Room (Marvel), SHIELD, Self-Harm, Sharing a Bed, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Torture, Violence, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-12 05:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 51,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12952644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophieRomanoff97/pseuds/SophieRomanoff97
Summary: These one shots all spring from one words prompts, the prompt is the name of the chapter.All of them are Clint/Natasha centric. Some are pre-relationship, nearly all are pre-Avengers. Lots of whump, hurt, comfort, violence and feels.Heed the warnings but other than that, enjoy the feels trip! Look forward to a new chapter every day!





	1. Knees

**Author's Note:**

> I really shouldn’t be starting a new fanfic right now but oh well. This is the first in a 31 fic special. I took the starting words from a whumptober post on Tumblr. I missed October so December it is. All fics will be based on one word prompts that the writer can interpret any way they want. Mine will all be focused on Clint and Natasha with some other characters thrown in. Most are before The Avengers so are focused on our Shield family. They’re all whump, some are slightly happier than others but they’re not particularly happy at all. Warnings will be on the top of fic if needed.  
> Without further ado, let’s go!  
> KNEES

Natasha shot her gun in rapid procession, ducking behind the wall and touching her comms device. “Hawk, come in.” she said gruffly, just slightly out of breath.

The device crackled in her ear and she cursed in Russian, taking out the comms and sliding it into her pocket. 

“Guess I’m going in blind.” She muttered, reloading her gun and poking her head around the corner. Once two more targets we’re down, she followed the sound of further gunshots, hoping by tracing the noise she would find her hawk.

The mission had started off easily enough, Natasha and Clint being sent into a party, undercover, to retrieve an object from their mark. They’d danced, drank water disguised as the bubbly they’d been handed, and watched from afar. A couple of hours in and they’d been getting steadily louder and more animated. Playing drunk. 

Natasha had left Clint by the bar to ‘find the ladies room’, bumping into their mark on the way out. Her hand slid expertly from his pocket, the USB hard drive they’d come for hidden in her palm.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Natasha had gushed, holding her hand to her mouth. “I really should pay attention to where I’m going.” She giggled, tipping her head back and biting her lower lip.

Their mark had been momentarily speechless.

Phil had chosen her dress, and damn if she didn’t look amazing in it.

Red and sleek, it fit to every curve. The slit down her cleavage went a long way to distract their mark, as did the red contrasting with her blonde wig and pale complexion.

“No need to apologise, beautiful. I’m sure we can find a way for you to make it up to me.” The man had smiled, taking a glass of champagne from one of the waiters, handing it to her.

Natasha had taken it, sipping as she played with a strand of hair. 

“I’m sure we can.” She simpered, stepping closer, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

“But I’m afraid my husband is waiting.” She said softly, feigning disappointment and taking a step back.

“Ah, ah, ah.” The man tutted, his hand shooting out to grab her wrist.

He’d gone to open her hand and she’d yanked back, the drive firmly in her grasp. 

“I have to go.” She said bluntly, done with playing nice.

She turned and walked steadily over to Clint. He put his arm around her waist and bent to kiss her cheek.

“Did you get it?” He asked quietly.

“Of course I did.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s time to go before they-“

“Hey, stop right there!” Their mark ordered, pushing through the crowd, his thunderous rage centered on Natasha. “I think you have something that belongs to me, Little Girl.” He hissed, once again reaching to grab her wrist. 

The redhead glanced at Clint and nodded. The both of them immediately starting to run in opposite directions. Natasha made it out the door and into the hallway. They were not to engage in a fight where the party was. Far too many civilians.

She slid her dress hem up, grabbing her gun concealed in her thigh holster.

She ran around a few corners and waited. And that’s where she was now.

Their mark had had ten or so guards hidden around the place. They’d been easy to place and even easier to dispatch of. She knew Clint could hold his own at with his guards. 

But something had to have gone wrong for her comms device to be crackling. Hers was fine, so it meant Clint’s must have either come out or broken. Which meant someone had gotten too close to her hawk.

Natasha rounded the corner, stepping past five bodies. The sound of gunfire had stilled and Natasha felt dread creeping into her brain. Either Clint had dispatched his guards or they had gotten him. 

She got her answer when their mark met her in the hallway, his dark hair mussed and blood sprayed across his cheek.

“I have your lover. I suggest that if you want to keep him alive, you hand over that which you stole from me.” Their mark sneered, whistling through his teeth. One guard came from the shadows, a gun pressed against Clint’s temple.

“Sorry, Widow. Civilians got in the way so he managed to get a drop on me.” 

He was smiling, because when was he never not cocky?

His eyes could convey a thousand messages and she knew what they told her this time. Shoot them, get it over with. 

She would have done, but the man behind Clint clearly wasn’t afraid to get himself hurt. She wasn’t one hundred percent sure she could shoot the guard and their mark before Clint’s brains got splattered across the wall.

“I’ll give you the drive back. Let him go.” Natasha held her hands up in surrender.

“Slide the gun over.” The mark demanded and Natasha did just that, kicking it over to him. 

After taking the gun himself, her held it out at her.

“On your knees or your lover dies. Hands behind your head.” He grinned.

Watching Clint’s face, the redhead lowered herself onto her knees.

“Really? Hands behind her head, how do you expect her to give you the drive?” Clint snorted, earning himself a backhand with the gun.

In that split second the gun wasn’t directly pointed at his temple, they both struck. 

Natasha rolled forward and kicked his legs out from beneath him, in one fell swoop, she stood and grabbed his shoulders, slamming his head into the ground.

At the same time, Clint whacked the guard in the nose with his elbow, the man crashing to the wall behind him. In one punch, he was out too.

Picking up her gun, Natasha slid it back into her holster.

Clint met her halfway.

She did nothing more than touch the trickle of blood on his cheek.

He did nothing more than touch her hand.

Turning, she slid her fingers into his.

“Don’t ever do that again.” Clint said seriously, his brows creasing.

“Do what? Save your ass?” She grinned as they walked down the hallway, fingers intertwined.

“Don’t get on your knees for anyone. Ever again.” He said quietly.

“No promises, Hawk.” Natasha rolled her eyes. “The job calls for it sometimes.”

“I don’t care. You don’t kneel for anyone.”

Natasha frowned and glanced over at him. 

“Okay.” She said quietly, matching his serious tone. 

In a second, his scowl was gone and he was grinning. 

“C’mon, I’m dying for a cheeseburger.” He smiled. 

“You always want a cheeseburger.” She rolled her eyes, not able to hide the grin.

“Wait.” She paused, turning to face him. “What happened to your comms?”

Clint awkwardly scratched his ear, “Um, got slammed into a wall?” He said sheepishly.

“For goodness sake, Clint.” Natasha would’ve face palmed if her hand was free.

“Medical first, then cheeseburger.” She sighed and Clint nodded. 

“Yes, ma’am.”


	2. Bagged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Black Widow and Hawkeye are on a mission, the man who captured them talks about a man who wants Natasha. He is from her past in the Red Room and Natasha freezes. Will she be pulled out of her head in time to fight or will her past consume her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, I hope you enjoyed the first chapter ‘Knees’ it may not be the best but it’s just the start. Enjoy!
> 
> BAGGED

Black Widow and Hawkeye sat side by side, their wrists bound to each other’s with some sort of flex cuff. They had brown sacks over their heads, tied around their necks with rope.

Whilst the rope was tight, it wasn’t enough to stop their air. That was their captors’ first mistake.

The second was placing them together, even having their hands together! It meant they could communicate through drawing letters on their partner’s palms.

The third was thinking a bag over their heads would limit their strengths and ability to fight. Clint’s hearing may not have been the best but Natasha’s was astute, she could hear their captors’ hushed voices from across the room. Natasha didn’t have the best sense of smell but Clint’s ability to smell was powerful. Even if it was a little strange at times. It drove Phil crazy at times. Especially when Clint would make a comment about him smelling like a woman. Phil’s face would get red and he would splutter a few expletives before clocking him around the ear and walking out.

Fourth was them thinking the two agents weren’t exactly where they wanted to be.

Without the use of their vision, they honed into the other skills, and silently came up with a plan.

They were in an abandoned factory in the middle of Germany, tasked to take down the leader of a drug cartel and human smuggling ring. It was an average mission, a few fights, no injuries. Then Natasha and Clint had been ‘spotted’ and apprehended. 

That had all been part of the plan. Get captured and the workers would lead them straight to the leader. The bags had been unexpected but didn’t deter either agent.

They heard footsteps coming towards them and Natasha halted in her word drawing, tilting her head up to where she imagined the mans face to be.

“So this is fun.” Natasha spoke, her voice slightly muffled by the fabric of the bag.

Clint hummed. “It’s certainly an adventure, eh Tash?”

“Shut up.” Came the harsh voice, a hand winding its way away Natasha’s throat, squeezing as he lifted her slightly. Clint’s arms came with her and he winced at the pull on his shoulders.

Natasha didn’t panic as her air was cut off, just went limp in his grip to make it more difficult for him to hold her up.

After a few seconds the man, a native German called Hans, let her go and she hit the concrete silently.

As she caught her breath, Clint spoke. “So now what? You gonna torture us? Get information out of us?” His tone was joking, unafraid and cocky.

“Oh no, of course I’m not.” Hans chuckled, his accent sounding nearly completely Americanised. 

“I’m going to kill you. Well, I’m going to kill one of you.” He sneered, “the other is going to be given to someone else. Can you guess which one?”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “I’m thinking that privilege falls to me.” She spoke, her voice a little scratchy. 

“So you’re not as stupid as you seem.” Hans chuckled. “Yes, little spider, I have someone in Russia just waiting for you.” 

Natasha stiffened slightly and Clint grabbed her fingers, silently telling her to stay calm.

Shield hadn’t mentioned anything about this man being connected to Russia. Of course they hadn’t. Surely Coulson wouldn’t have let this go ahead had he known?

“I know you have a lot of enemies in your home country, Natalia. Don’t worry; I’m sure Dimitri will make sure they don’t get to you. He wants you all to himself.” Hans purred.

Natasha’s ears rang and her chest felt tighter. She said nothing. 

Dimitri. She had killed him. Hadn’t she? 

“I’m getting paid an awful lot for you, Natalia. You on the other hand, Hawk, no one wants you. I get to play.”

“No one wants me? Story of my life.” Clint laughed, his fingers tight on Natasha’s. 

“The time has come to say goodbye.” Hans snapped his fingers.

Suddenly two pairs of hands were reaching down to the agents, a knife sliding through the bindings that connected them, pulling them apart.

Natasha was still silent and Clint could feel his heart racing. Was she okay? Regressing back into her memories was NOT an option right now. They had to get out of here.

Calling on the plan they had made, Clint lashed out at the person holding him. Even with cuffs around his wrists and a bag over his head, he was a force to be reckoned with.  
He had no idea if Natasha was with him at the moment, whether she was lost in her head and up for fighting. So once his guard was down, he headed where his nose took him.

The smell of baby powder, sweat, and a sweet perfume helped him find Natasha and he reached for the scent of gun powder and dust. Before he grabbed the other man, he heard Natasha start. 

His partner was fighting. 

He breathed a soft sigh of relief and went after Hans.

In a matter of a minute the fight was over.

Clint could hear Natasha’s shuddering breaths and he reached for her. 

The feel of cold metal touched his wrist and he froze, trusting her. If she had regressed, she could kill him with one stroke. He would not fight back.

Instead, he felt the bindings snapping as Natasha slid the knife through them.

Clint stretched his fingers out and untied the rope around his neck, yanking the bag off his head. For the first time in a few hours he could see. The room was dark but he could see the bodies on the floor and the blood surrounding them.

Then he saw Natasha, her head still obscured by her bag, her hands holding the knife like she didn’t know what to do.

He stepped forward and silently undid her rope and pulled the bag off. She didn’t struggle. 

Her neck was covered in dark bruises that made Clint inhale.

Clint took the knife from her and slid it into his belt, taking her shoulder in one hand and pushing her red locks out of her eyes with the other.

“Tasha, say something.” He said quietly, worriedly, trying to catch her gaze.

Widow slowly looked up from the body of Hans, blinking rapidly. 

He could see that her eyes were unfocused and glazed over.

“Tell me where we are, who you are and who I am.” He said softly, trying to pull her back to him.

She spoke slowly, obviously thinking hard about her answers.

“We are…we’re in Germany.” She frowned, looking right at him. 

“Yes, we are. Where are we not?” He asked gently, his hand brushing against her shoulder.

“We are not in Russia. This is not the Red Room.” She murmured, suddenly desperate to touch him. She put her hand on his neck, thumb rubbing over the faint bruises from the rope.

“Good.” He nodded, not belittling her, just reminding her. “Second question?”

“I am Natasha…Natasha Romanoff, I am the Black Widow.” She said quietly, seeming to come more into herself with each word.

“Who are you not?” Clint asked quietly, stroking her cheek and tucking hair behind her ear.

“I am not Nat…Natalia. I am not the Red Room’s puppet.” She let out a soft breath, closing her eyes for a moment.

“Tasha, don’t, eyes on me.” He said gently but firmly, his thumb running over her cheekbone. “Third question?”

Her eyelids fluttered open and her eyes were more focused, more Natasha.

“You are Clint Barton. Hawkeye. My boyfriend.” She smiled faintly at that and Clint smiled widely back, nodding. “Who am I not?”

“You are not Dimitri or Madame. You are not a mark. You are not an agent of the Red Room.” Her words were surer now.

“Natasha?” Clint asked softly and the woman nodded. 

“I’m here.”

Clint put a hand on the back of her head and pulled her to his chest. 

“You’re here. I’m here. You are not there.” He murmured, stroking down her shoulder blades.

“Thank you.” Natasha breathed, closing her eyes and allowing herself to sink against him for a moment.

“It’s what I do.” He grinned, pulling back. 

“No really.” Natasha said seriously and Clint’s smile dropped.

“I mean it, thank you.” She said quietly and Clint just nodded, sliding his fingers into hers.

“Let’s go home, Nat.”


	3. Cell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Agent Barton was sent to kill me. He made a different call.' My take on the events after Clint spares Natasha's life in Russia. Shield put her in a cell, and Clint surprises them all. "What do you think, Sir? Did Barton make the right call?" "He did. That woman is going to fit in very well around here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Welcome to the third instalment of ‘I missed October so I’m doing whumptober in December’. This one is set just after Clint ‘makes a different call’  
> I should’ve said before that all of these are one-shots and you don’t have to read all of them to understand. So without further ado, enjoy today’s word which is cell.
> 
> CELL

When Clint swaggered into Shield with a dejected and broken looking Russian woman, the personnel at the front desk were sent into a panic.

They’d all heard of the infamous Russian assassin known only as The Widow, and they all thought the woman had come to Shield to kill them.

Clint fought like hell to protect her, to try and convince them that she was with him, that she wasn’t a threat. He demanded that he talk to Nick Fury, or Agent Coulson at least. But all the agents did was page Clint’s handler and escort the red haired woman to the holding cells. They locked her in and closed the shutter, convinced they had done well, that they had saved Shield.

The woman hadn’t fought, hadn’t lifted a finger to hurt any of them. She simply sat down on the small camp bed, her knees drawn to her chest and her face buried against the material of Clint’s sweatpants (he’d insisted she take them, that her leather pants were far too uncomfortable for the trip back to America).

The woman rocked herself slowly, muttering in Russian. She thought she had made the wrong decision. That she had traded her life away to this American group. That she would be locked up until she died. Or she’d be taken somewhere and tortured for information. 

She thought her life was over before she had even had the chance to have it begin.

Outside the cells, Clint was waiting, watching the woman on one of the screens. They had at least five cameras pointed at her. Like she was on a TV show, it was sickening.

When Phil met him down at the holding area, Clint was ready. He came at Coulson, gesticulating wildly at the screens. “She’s here of her own damn free will, Coulson. She CHOSE to come here, she chose to risk everything! She could have killed me. She had the drop on me, I swear, and yet she didn’t. She barely even hurt me!”

Coulson stayed quiet, pursing his lips. “Be that as it may, Clint, you brought back a dangerous assassin. An assassin that you were tasked with killing.” He said quietly, calm in the face of Clint’s anger.

“She’s not going to hurt anyone! Your file was wrong, Phil. She doesn’t kill for money, she doesn’t kill anyone who doesn’t deserve it! I found her in the middle of planning a rescue mission for girls sold into sex slavery for gods sake.” Clint pushed his hand through his hair, swallowing back the bile in his throat. “She was saving girls, Phil, and you would have had me kill her. Make a spectacle out of her and for what? The glory of killing an assassin? You were wrong.” He growled lowly.

“She saw me coming from a mile off. She knew I was following her. She had opportunity upon opportunity to kill me.” Clint shook his head. “And do you know what she did when I came up behind her with my bow? She dropped her gun and she got on her knees in front of me.” He was breathing heavily now. He knew he had made the right choice. He had been watching her for weeks. Not only was she an incredible fighter, a force to be reckoned with. She was kind. She gave homeless people on the street her food. She left bowls of milk around the town for the stray cats. She was not evil. She had just been raised somewhere horrible.

“I understand that, Clint. I trust you but I also know bits of what happened to her. The Red Room don’t mess around. They brainwash, torture. The girls kill each other before they’re ten years old. I may trust you but do I trust her? Around hundreds of Shield personnel? No, I do not.” Coulson said quietly. “I’m sorry, Clint, but until Shield psych interviews and clears her, she’s not leaving that room.”

“Room? Room?! It’s a jail cell, Coulson, don’t act like it isn’t.” He spat.

“Clint, she’s not getting out of there any time soon. I suggest you go clean up and get some rest.” He turned to examine the screens, indicating that their conversation was done.

Clint growled and kicked the nearest thing, a waste basket, across the floor before storming off.

Back in the jail cell, the red haired woman looked up at the ceiling at the sound of clattering. Frowning, she looked back at her hands. She must have been imagining it.

Suddenly, the sounds got louder and she felt a draft from the ceiling. A sandy haired head poked out and a grin met her disbelief.

“Hey, Nat. Fancy a walk?” Clint smiled, holding his hand down. Clint had noticed how she flinched at her given name ‘Natalia’, she had seemed a lot more comfortable just being called Nat.

“I’m a little locked up here.” She quirked, unable to stop her lips pulling back in a small smile.

“I see that. That’s why we’re going through the vents. Better hurry up and make up your mind. Shield is gonna come crashing through those doors in approximately fifteen seconds.”

The woman pursed her lips and nodded, stepping up onto the bed and taking his outstretched hand. He easily lifted her up and hastily replaced the coverings, just as the sound of shouting and crashing reached them from below.

“What are you doing, Hawk?” She asked quietly as she followed him through the vents.

“I didn’t like the thought of you being locked up there.” He shrugged, rounding the corner.

“It was pointless. They will find us and I will be back in that room in no time.” She sighed. “I should have expected to be put away. After everything I’ve done.”

In the cramped space, Clint looked back at her. “Nat, listen to me. They wouldn’t let me see you and I need you to know some things before they find us.” He murmured, crouching low and listening to the sounds below. “Empty.” He grinned, working on getting the cover open before dropping through. He reached up and the woman climbed down and dropped beside him.

“Spend a lot of time in the vents?” She quipped, dusting off her shoulders. 

“Eh, I guess. It’s quiet up there, no one tends to ever follow me so I can be alone. It’s great for spying on people and besides, I like to be high up.” He shrugged, reaching into his pocket and holding out a slightly melted chocolate bar.

The woman blinked and accepted it, shyly peeling back the corner and biting off a little.

“It’s…delicious.” She marvelled, eyes slightly wider.

“Yeah, it’s good right?” Clint grinned, biting into his own. 

The woman nodded and carefully put it into her pocket, savouring the taste on her tongue. 

“Russian chocolate leaves a lot to be desired. Not that I had it very often.” She shrugged and leaned back against the wall.

“I probably will not have much more of it if I am to spend my life in a cell.” She murmured, eyes on the floor.

“Nat,” Clint stepped forward, tilting her chin up with his finger.

The woman sighed and forced her gaze to his. “What?”

“I promise you, you will not spend your life behind there. I’ll do everything I can to get the whole thing pushed ahead. You’ll see.” He said firmly.

Unsure what to say, the woman just nodded. 

“It seems impossible, I know. I’m not asking you to trust Shield, or anyone else, I’m just asking you to try and trust me.”

“You spared my life.” She said, voice husky. “I’m sure I can find it in myself to try and trust you.”

“Good!” Clint grinned, dropping his hand and stepping back. They stayed in a comfortable silence for a few minutes before she next spoke.

“Why Nat?” She asked softly, tilting her head.

Clint momentarily marvelled at the beauty of her rich Russian accent. Her English was almost impeccable. 

“Because…I saw how you reacted when I called you, Natalia. We have a penchant for using nicknames in America.” Clint grinned ruefully, rubbing the back of his neck. “If you don’t like it...”

“No, no, I like it. It’s just…my name is Natalia, I won’t ever be able to escape it.” She frowned.

“Nat isn’t just short for that. There’s Natalie, Natasha…actually, I think that’s about it.” He shrugged. “But if you decide to stay, you could change your name. It’s easy enough. My full name is Clinton but no one but my mama and my brother called me that, so I shortened it.” He said quietly.

“I…I like Natasha. It’s…a good Russian name but not too close to my birth name.” She said softly, flushing slightly.

“Then welcome to Shield, Natasha. Though, Nat is a cute nickname, so I’m not gonna stop calling you that.” He grinned.

“Now, ready to leave? Remember what I promised, the cell is only temporary.” He said, serious.

Natasha nodded and took the hand he offered. 

Flicking the lock on the door, he tugged her out. Immediately, they were met with Shield officers and Clint held her behind him. 

“I did offer a walk, or rather in this instance, may I suggest a run?” He smirked.

“A run would be fantastic.” She hummed and Clint immediately took off running down the hallways.

Natasha grinned and burst out laughing, the sound music to Clint’s ears.

They both knew they would be stopped soon enough, but Natasha did not mind. In that moment, Natasha Romanov was free.  
….  
Agent Hill stepped up besides Coulson as they watched the pair run from their agents. 

“What do you think, Sir? Did Barton make the right call?” Maria asked quietly.

Phil’s lips pulled back in a rare smile. 

“He did. That woman is going to fit in very well around here.”


	4. Noose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Three weeks after Clint brought a broken Russian woman back to America, Natasha Romanoff tried to kill herself.' Feeling hopeless and overwhelmed with memories of her past, Natasha tries to kill herself whilst Clint is on a mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, welcome to day four.   
> This one has trigger warnings for self-harm, the Red Room (so forcing a child to kill and have sex etc), a brief mention of rape, stuff about murdering, and a slightly graphic suicide attempt. So please be careful.  
> The word today is 'noose' and I know different people would think of different things but this is where my mind went. 
> 
> NOOSE

Three weeks after Clint brought a broken Russian woman back to America, Natasha Romanoff tried to kill herself.

She'd been out of her cell for a few days, still under supervision and not allowed anywhere near any kind of weapon. She was confined to a room, and whilst it was better than her jail cell, she was still trapped in four walls and a ceiling.

Clint was allowed to visit her now, though, but he was being sent on a mission for a few weeks. She'd gotten used to him bringing her meals and sitting with her for hours. They would play board games, he would show her American music, and she would sing traditional Russian songs. 

They just talked, for hours at a time. She divulged some of what happened in the Red Room and he talked about his past in the circus. He was all she had.

He would reassure her every time that he would come back. And he did. Every day without fail. But then he told her that his superiors were sending him away. Just for a few days, he insisted, he would be coming back.

Natasha trusted him. He wouldn't leave her alone.  
But a week passed, and she had heard nothing from Clint. Her head told her that he wasn't coming. Her heart didn't want to listen.

Plates of food piled up in the corner of her room, uneaten and her bed lay untouched. 

All she had in the room was the bed, a small blanket and a couple of books. She wasn't even allowed actually cutlery, just plastic shit. They thought she wouldn't hurt herself with that. How they'd even known Natasha did that was beyond her. She assumed that during her physical exam, they'd seen the white scars, usually hidden with clothes.

It didn't matter. She'd had less than a plastic spoon before. After breaking it and sharpening it on the wall, it was good enough.

Her self-harm got increasingly worse as the days passed. She was alone all day, every day. The only time someone saw her was to bring more food. After the plates began piling up, she just slammed the door in their faces and didn't bother bringing it into her room.

She didn't sleep. If she happened to nod off, Natasha would have horrendous nightmares and wake up sweating and screaming, unsure where she was and what was happening.  
She spent her time pacing, maybe reading a little. Nothing was enough to distract her from her mind. Her brain pummelled her with images of her past. 

A five year old Natasha being dragged away from her home, burning on the horizon. Her voice hoarse as she screamed for her mama and little brother. 

"You're perfect, Natalia, we will make you strong." 

Seven years old Natasha, shy and quiet but the best in her class at hand to hand fighting. The harder she beat the other girls, the more food she got. Still not a lot, but compared to the empty stomachs of her classmates, it was a lot better.

Eight years old Natasha, firing a gun at targets. Realistic cut-outs of people, all ages and sizes. As her bullet whipped through the head of small boy, the sound of clapping reached her ears and she felt pride burning in her chest.

Ten years old, fighting hand to hand, just like every day. With an older girls head in an arm lock, she looked up at Madame.

"Snap her neck." Came the cold voice and Natasha faltered, brows furrowing. 

"That will kill her." She frowned as the girl struggled in her grasp.

"That's the point, Natalia. Are you strong or are you weak? Snap her neck."

Natasha looked down, the girl pleading in broken Russian. She twisted hard, it taking a lot more than she thought it would. It was messy and long, not a quick death at all.

She'd gone to bed, her wrists chained above her, with a full stomach.

Thirteen, Natasha was growing into a beautiful young woman. Her curves were hard to ignore, even under training clothes and she saw the male leaders take notice. Their gazes hungry and wolf like.

Fourteen, Natasha learned how to look the part. She looked at least eighteen and as she stood in front of a mirror in Madame's office, the older woman smiled at her. 

"You're beautiful, Natasha, you can use that. Every man here wants you and that's good. You will sleep with them and you will be magnificent."

Still fourteen, thirteen kills under her belt, she slept with a man for the first time. It was rough and it hurt but she was a woman and she could take it.

Fifteen and there was only her left, the bravest, the strongest. She was made of marble. It was time for the graduation ceremony. Then she would be sent on missions around the world. It was what she had been born to do.  
It was almost impossible for Natasha to get the memories out of her head, those and so many more. The first time she'd been raped, the first time she'd been forced to kill a toddler, the first time she'd tortured someone.

All if those terrible things she couldn't ever take back. Clint was wrong, she was evil. Everyone else at Shield treated her like she was dangerous, like she would never be redeemed and they were right. Clint had abandoned her and she had no one again, just herself.

She couldn't take it anymore. The flashbacks, panic attacks, screaming, the cutting. She couldn't do it.

That was how she came to stand on the bed, her small blanket tied to the naked light bulb on the ceiling. 

With calmness inside her, Natasha put her head through her homemade noose.

Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, the redhead stepped off the side of the bed.

That was when Clint Barton crashed through the door.

He froze for a second, watching her swinging form before running forward. In two seconds, he was cutting the noose and catching her limp body.

He laid her on the ground, his fingers pressing to her bruised and red raw neck. There, after a few seconds of holding his breath, was the faint throbbing of her pulse.

"Nat? Natasha?" He breathed, shaking her shoulder and pulling back her eyelids. Her eyes were bloodshot and glazed and Clint would have thought she was dead if he couldn't feel the weak pulse beneath his fingers.

"Shit." He cursed, lifting her into his arms, rushing from the door and running all the way to shield medical.  
By the time he reached his destination, the woman had stopped breathing. He lay her down on the bed and stumbled backwards to let the medics work.

She wasn't supporting her airways and he watched them shove a tube down her throat, her chest rising and falling as they pushed air into her lungs. 

Her neck was fractured and her fingernails were purple. They put her in an induced coma, a machine breathing for her.

She stayed like that for the next six days, Clint barely leaving her side.

When he did, it was to yell at every Shield personnel he got his hands on. Phil, in particular, got a mouthful. Literally, Clint punched him in the mouth after screaming at him.

He couldn't believe they'd let that happen. That they hadn't checked on her, that they hadn't even thought to just talk to her. Phil apologised profusely, something he never did.

He'd known he'd done wrong. He had fucked up royally, leaving Romanoff in that room.  
When she recovered, things would be different, he told Clint. She would be a member of Shield, she wouldn't be confined to a room.

For Clint it was all too little too late. After rolling his eyes, he returned to Natasha's side. He held her hand and read stories to her, played her favourite songs and just spoke to her.

On the sixth day, her eyelids fluttered open and she focused on the man besides her. Seeing a threat, she lashed out, catching him above the eye and sending him reeling back. 

The machines blared and the door opened, two doctors rushing in. Clint held up a hand and halted them, pulling himself off the floor and rushing to her.

Clint leaned forward, right in her line of vision. "Nat? Nat, it's me, it's Clint. You're okay now, it's okay, calm down." He breathed, not holding her down like he knew the doctors wanted to do.

The redhead blinked rapidly, the machines still screaming at them. She seemed to recognise Clint and stilled, her bloodshot eyes wide.

"I'm here. You're at Shield. You're okay. There's a tube helping you breathe, try to relax, it's going to be okay." He said softly, taking her hand. "We can get the tube out now you're awake, okay? I just need you to stay still and stay calm." He touched her forehead, waiting for her to process the information. 

"You're okay, Nat, I promise. Things are going to be different, okay?" He whispered, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. 

Natasha looked back at him, faith in him in her gaze.

"I promise, Nat, you belong here. I will look out for you.”  
The redhead was shaking and she sank back against the pillows, the machines beginning to quieten.

"I'm so sorry this happened, Natasha." He said quietly, shaking his head. "Nothing like this is ever gonna happen again. I promise. We take care of each other, Nat."

She tipped her head in a weak nod, wincing at the pain. 

"Careful, careful." He hushed, stroking his fingers down the side of her face. "Your neck is injured, don't move." He sighed, his eyes locked on hers. Her gaze on him, his cheeks burned.

"You'll be okay, Nat."


	5. Explosion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'On their first official mission together, Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton got themselves caught up in an explosion.' When a routine mission goes downhill fast, will Clint find Natasha in time? Will Phil make it to the both of them before the inexplicable happens? Day 5 of prompt challenge, enjoy this Clintasha whumpy goodness! Reviews are my best friends!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone. Welcome to day five. Today I bring you...  
> EXPLOSION  
> Translations: (I don’t know Russian, it may be wrong)  
> Zvezda Moya- My Star  
> Lyubov moya, ya ustal, ya ne mogu ... derzhat' glaza otkrytymi - My love, I'm tired, I cannot ... keep my eyes open  
> lyubov moya- my love  
> Izvinite, lyubov –sorry love  
> Izvinite –sorry  
> moye solnyshko –my small sun  
> Kotenok -kitten

On their first official mission together, Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton got themselves caught up in an explosion.

Things had been going well, too well, the cynical voice inside Natasha was saying. They'd got the drop on the guards, had easily managed to subdue or kill them all and were on their way to retrieve the package in the basement.

They chatted between themselves, nothing too dark, mainly banter. They enjoyed each other’s company and it went a long way to ease the tension creeping up Natasha's spine. 

"I keep telling myself that it's okay to win." The redhead groaned, shaking her head. "That it's okay that we beat the bad guys and have nearly completed the mission." She carried on, her astute eyes still darting around every shadow and crevice.

"But?" Clint prompted, "I feel one hell of a but coming on." He grinned, at which Natasha rolled her eyes. 

"Ever since you told me that but has too meanings in America, I can't take you seriously when you say it." Natasha smiled, her gaze teasing.

"Well, you do have one hell of a great butt." Clint snarked, his eyes twinkling as he caught her gaze. A rare, true smile was spread across her face. Her eyelids crinkled and her nose scrunched up in a way that made Clint's heart stand still. And she was smiling that way at him.

Clint opened his mouth to stammer out something about what Natasha had been meaning to say before he'd gotten side tracked.  
He saw Natasha's eyes widen in shock and almost fear. He reached out to ask what was wrong when the room exploded in front of their very eyes.

Natasha was ripped away from Clint and the archer had the sense of being airborne before his back and head hit something solid and his vision faded to black.

When Clint came to, he almost wished he hadn't. The room they'd been in was in ruins, a massive hole in the ceiling and the walls caving in around him. 

His ears rang sickeningly and he felt off balance before he'd even attempted to stand. His head pounded with each beat of his heart, he could taste blood at the back of his throat as he fought his eyelids back open from where they'd closed. 

Grunting and pushing off a piece of brick from his shoulder, Clint grabbed onto what was left of the wall to heave himself up to his feet. Once standing, he nearly collapsed back, the room spinning around him. His hearing felt off, like he was underwater and it took everything he had not to crumple to the floor and wait for help.

Someone would surely be coming to extract him and Natasha soon, he just had to-

"Natasha." He breathed, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Shit, Tasha."  
Clint pushed away from the wall, scanning the debris for any sign of his friend. "Nat? Natasha?!" He shouted, head spinning as he was met with nothing but silence.

He climbed over to where he last remembered seeing Natasha, his stomach twisted as he imagined that last moment. Her beautiful, bright smile, just before she was ripped away. And the last thing he'd said to her was a crude remark about her ass. 

"Barton, you fucking idiot." He muttered, tiredly leaning against a chunk of wall for a moment. He caught his breath and steadied himself before heading to the largest pile. 

"Need to find her. I have to find her. That can't be the last thing I said to her." He mumbled, only a little aware that he was saying all of that out loud.

His ear crackled and Clint could've smacked himself for being so dim. His comms device! 

He pressed it closer into his ear, amazed it had survived the blast. "Coulson? Coulson, Hill? Does anybody copy?"

Static met him and he cursed, shouting now.

"This is Agent Barton, does anybody copy? Coulson, please." He pleaded, closing his eyes.

"Barton-" the crackled voice came into his ear and he nearly fainted with relief. 

"Phil, there was an explosion, I can't find Nat. The whole place is a wreck, I need evac and...and medics-" his voice was slurred even to his own ears and he took a deep breath, spitting out a mouthful of blood.

"Evac is twenty minutes out, Barton. What's your status?" Phil demanded, concern in his voice. 

"I...I blacked out for a while, I'm not sure how long." He carefully tried to take stock of his injuries. 

"I can barely keep my eyes open, so concussion. There's blood in my throat, make some broken ribs, some cuts and bruises. Nothing serious." He said off handedly.

"A concussion is serious, Barton, honestly." Phil sighed. "If you can, stay awake, stay alert. You're going to have to try and find Natasha, okay?"

Clint swallowed hard and nodded, though Phil obviously couldn't see. "Yeah...yeah, Nat." He mumbled, starting back in his digging through the pile of rubble.

He called out her name, begged her to say something. When one pile proved fruitless, he turned to another and another, digging his hands bruised and bloody.

But finally, after what felt like hours but had really only been about three minutes, Clint caught a sight of her brilliant red hair.  
"Nat-" he breathed, digging with renewed vigour until only her legs were covered with debris. 

His eyes roved her body as he mentally wrote down everything he saw.

Natasha was frighteningly pale. Blood ran down her temples and into her closed eyes, more at her lips, indicating she'd coughed it up at some stage. Her suit was bloody and torn and he could see a tell-tale darker patch just below her ribs.

He shakily reached out, with baited breath, two fingers pressing against her neck. Silently, he prayed to a god he'd never believed in, begging for her to be alive.

A weak thrumming met his fingers and he exhaled shakily.

Clint started to try and rouse her, not wanting to shake her for fear of injuring her spine or neck. 

"Tasha?" He called, pinching her cheek, the other flat against her shoulder. "Nat, can you hear me? Please, sweetheart, I need you to open those beautiful eyes for me."  
A soft groaning answered him, the redhead's eyelids fluttering weakly. 

Clint stroked a finger down her cheek, his fingers coming away wet with her blood. "That's it, Nat, open your eyes. There you go-" he whispered, dizzily pushing himself back. 

He kept talking to her whilst he removed the bricks and what had been the ceiling off her legs. She'd been hit the worst, actually flying through the wall and under a good portion of the debris.

He cursed as he lifted a piece of her thigh, his eyes widening as blood immediately began spurting over his hands. 

Idiot, Barton, fucking idiot. 

He clamped down on her leg, grimacing as Natasha struggled weakly from the pressure.  
"Stay still, Tash, you're gonna be okay." He whispered. 

"Coulson? Coulson, I need the med team about five minutes ago." He rushed out, his grip never faltering on her thigh.

"Status?" Phil asked in a clipped tone. "Eta is eleven minutes."

"She's barely awake, she coughing blood when she has the energy. Concussion, wound below her ribs but Phil, something's nicked her femoral artery, the bleeding isn't slowing-" he whispered, the sound of his own gasping vaguely settling in the back of his head.

"I...I can try and apply pressure but she's gonna bleed out, I can't...I can't fix it, I don't-" 

"Clint?!" Phil's anxious tone told him it wasn't the first time he'd tried getting his attention.

"Breathe, just breathe, they're going as fast as they can." His voice was soothing.

"Stay awake and keep pressure on her leg. Look around you; do you have anything to make a tourniquet out of?"

Clint blinked and hastily looked around before settling on Natasha. "Her belt-" he breathed, reaching with one hand to unclick it from her waist. 

Still gripping her thigh, he used his other hand and his teeth to tighten it right above the injury, pulling it as tight as he could.  
"Tash?" Clint swallowed, startled to find her eyes open and just about focused on him. "Hey, hey you." He breathed, his entire being trembling.

Natasha blinked rapidly, her pupils blown wide as she opened and closed her mouth a few times. 

"C'int-" She finally managed, her brows furrowed as she tried to find out what had happened.

"You're okay, Nat, I've got you. Just stay with me-" he didn't care that he was begging now, he was desperate. 

"If you...Stay with me." She whispered, her teeth gritted against the pain she had to be feeling. But she didn't complain or moan, just lay there and bared it.

"I'm always staying with you." He said softly. "You're not getting rid of me so easily, Zvezda Moya." Clint watched as she openly struggled for words. It killed him to see like that.

"My star." She breathed, eyes soft as they rested on his face. "You've never called me that before." She whispered, a slight wetness to her tone. She grimaced, coughing harshly at the exertion, bright red blood splattering her lips and because of how close he was, Clint's face. 

"Well you are my star, Nat." He whispered.  
"Lyubov moya, ya ustal, ya ne mogu ... derzhat' glaza otkrytymi." She mumbled and Clint took it as a bad sign that she had lapsed into Russian. Luckily, he had picked up Russian shortly after he'd spared her life. It came in handy when calming her, and it came in handy now.

"I know, lyubov moya, I know you're tired. Just keep looking at me moye solnyshko, Please." The word slipped out but Natasha paid no notice.  
"Izvinite, lyubov." She whispered. "Izvinite." 

"Shh, don't apologise. I've got you. Please, Nat, don't leave me." He shook his head, looking down at his hand on her thigh. The blood pulsed beneath his fingers, dripping down into the dust.

When Clint looked back up, Natasha's eyes were closed.  
"Natasha?" Clint blinked, his heart racing. "Tasha? Please-" he whispered, shaking his head. He reached for her neck, his chest tight. He felt like he couldn't breathe. 

"Phil, Phil where are they?" Clint's breathless, panicked voice shouted in the quiet. 

"I'm losing her, I can't, she won't wake up-" he gasped, barely able to hear over the roaring in his ears. 

"I can't feel her pulse-" he whispered, darkness encroaching his vision. 

"I...I can't-"

The last thing he heard was Phil screaming in his ear as he slumped forward over Natasha, darkness taking him.  
The next time Clint became fully aware, there was a weight on his chest and a bright light in his eyes. He reacted, hitting out. Thankfully the lights disappeared but now something was holding his shoulders down, faceless voices shouting at him.

Slowly, he managed to filter through the noise as his vision began to clear.

"-calm down, Agent, you're safe-"

Finally Clint was able to see properly and he took stock of the room. Two men, obviously agents, were holding him down, their grip strong. The only reason Clint didn't break the hands holding him was because he saw Phil. Phil was the one speaking, her realised, the one telling him to calm down.

So he did, he relaxed his muscles and allowed himself to be pushed back.

"You can let go of him." Phil snapped. "He was disorientated and hurt; he's no threat to you." 

Clint simply blinked as the doctor on the floor glowered up at him. "Tell that to my bleeding nose-" he hissed.

"It's in his file that he doesn't wake up well, imbecile, you startled him. Now get out!" Coulson demanded, pointing at the door. "You two step back, outside the door. I need to speak with my agent alone."

Phil's tone demanded obedience and the two nodded before stepping out.  
"Do you know where you are, Clint?" Phil turned to him, the harshness gone from his voice. 

"Uh...Shield medical?" He winced, rubbing his forehead at the throbbing he felt there. "I feel like I've been hit by a truck, and trust me that happened once, so I know how it feels-" he muttered, wincing at the harshness of the hospital lights.

"Do you remember what happened?" Phil prodded, tutting and pulling his hand away from his head.

Clint rolled his eyes but let him. "There was an explosion. Me and Nat were securing the package and-" he immediately jerked upright, throwing his legs off the side of the bed. "Natasha-" he gasped, his face draining of whatever little colour he'd managed to gain back. 

"Her thigh, the blood..." he whispered. "She wouldn't wake up, I couldn't feel her pulse-" he swallowed hard, hardly daring to look his superior in the eyes.

"Phil, is she...?" He stammered, his eyes wide.

"No, no." Phil shook his head, hand on his shoulder. "She's alive, Clint, I swear." 

Clint scarcely dared believe it. "But... I felt her neck. I...I didn't feel anything-" he frowned, unsure if he could believe she wasn't dead.

"We got there shortly after you passed out." Phil said quietly. "When you didn't respond, I thought the worst." He swallowed hard, his face grave. 

"Natasha wasn't breathing when they reached you. They started giving her CPR immediately, but they knew without blood she wouldn't survive. Luckily, she's a universal donor, so they had some on hand." 

Clint nodded, grateful for the details. It all helped him piece it all together in his head.  
"They started giving her the blood and she began breathing on her own." Phil murmured. "They'd been so busy with her, I turned to check on you and you..." he stammered. "You were on the floor, your eyes rolled back into your head, having a goddamn seizure in my quinjet." He closed his eyes for a moment.

"I thought then that I'd lost you. Your concussion was...is severe, once they'd controlled the first seizure, they just kept coming." Phil shook his head. "You've been unconscious for over a week, they weren't sure if you were going to wake up." He murmured. "You went in for surgery, your skull was cracked and you were bleeding on your brain. I mean, Jesus Christ, Barton, you know how to scare a man." 

Clint frowned, just blinking. "Wow, shit. Sorry about going full exorcist on you." He chuckled, trying to get Phil to at least crack a smile. 

"And Nat?" 

"She had surgery too, repairing the damage in her thigh. You were right about her ribs, a piece of debris had gone right through and out her back." He shook his head. 

"I...shit. I didn't even notice that, no wonder she bled out so quickly." He breathed.  
"You saved her life, even with a life threatening concussion. I swear, Clint, I nearly lost my voice trying to get you to answer me." 

"Sorry." He mumbled, faintly recalling Natasha telling him the same word before she'd passed out. "She's okay now? I can see her?"

"If you sit in the wheelchair. No complaining, no getting out of it. Your balance is gonna be shot and we don't know if there's any permanent damage. You may have more seizures and if you hit your head again any time soon, god knows what'll happen."

Clint was so desperate to see Natasha that he didn't care about the wheelchair. He even let the doctor check him over first, shining that annoying ass light in his eyes again.

But finally they were on their way to Natasha. 

Once there, Phil wheeled him right to the bed and squeezed his shoulder. "Yell when you want me." He said quietly and Clint looked up at him. "Thank you for saving us, Phil."

"Of course, Barton." He nodded and then they were left alone.

The faint beeping of the machines, usually annoying to him, we're soothing this time around. He recognised them as Natasha's life, and he would never find them annoying again, he was sure of it.

He reached over and took her hand in his, turning it palm side up so he could trace patterns into it. He got lost in the feeling of her skin, of the gentle beeps of the machines, the reassuring sight of her chest rising and falling.

"Zvezda Moya." He murmured. "I am never letting anything like that happen again." He murmured tiredly, rubbing at the pain I'm his temples. 

"I am in no rush for that to happen again." Came Natasha's soft, scratchy voice. Music to Clint's ears. 

"Hey you." He breathed, wincing as she clumsily rubbed at the oxygen supplement up her nose. "How are you feeling?"

"Mm...these drugs are...impressive." Natasha slurred, a goofy grin on her face. 

Clint couldn't help but burst out laughing. "I'm glad to hear it. Go back to sleep, zvezda moya. I will be here when you wake up."

"Hmm, okay kotenok." Her voice tapered off and in seconds she was asleep again.

"Did she really just call me kitten?" He asked to no one in particular. "That had better not stick." He grumbled but he couldn't help but smile.


	6. Bone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Natasha is knocked unconscious during a mission, it's down to Clint to fight the last of the bad guys. Jumping from the rafters tends to be a bad decision, especially when one ends up with a broken ankle. day 6 of prompt challenge. Word of the day: Bone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! welcome to day 6, if you want to check out my last one, it's called 'explosion' and is verrrry whumpy. Anyways, here's...
> 
> BONE  
> Zvezda moya – my star  
> Kotyonok - kitten

Clint gritted his teeth, wincing with every step as he moved around the corner, his sharp eyes searching the vicinity. 

"Tash?" His hissed, cocking his head in an attempt to hear better. "Natasha?" 

Silence answered him and he forced himself forward, senses on high alert as he searched for his partner. 

Realising he wasn't going to see anything from on the ground, Clint looked up at the ceiling. They were in an old abandoned house, and Clint grinned as he took stock of the rafters. 

He took a few steps back before running forward, jumping and grabbing onto the lowest beam. His ribs screaming in protest, he hooked his leg around the wood and swung himself up. From there on it was easy for the ex-carnie to climb up the top rafters.

Perched there, like his namesake, he could search nearly the entire building. That was where he finally spotted Natasha, the redhead sprawled out face down on the floor, obviously unconscious, two men headed straight for her.

Clint cursed, standing and leaping easily from rafter to rafter, silent. When he was above them, he prepared himself for the drop down. It was gonna hurt like a bitch.  
Clint readied himself and jumped. It wasn't quite as deft as he would've liked, Natasha was the cat out of the both of them. He landed heavily on his left foot, his ankle rolling beneath him, an audible snap echoing in the room.

Pain shot through him and he shouted out expletives that would've got him in the shit with Phil.

But in seconds, the archer was on the men. They'd been surprised by him dropping from the ceiling and we're momentarily caught off guard. In thirty seconds, the two men were down and Clint was limping to Natasha.

He gently rolled her onto her back, reaching into his pocket. He pressed the phone he pulled out to his ear, holding it in place with his shoulder as he felt for Natasha's pulse.

He grimaced as he waited for Phil to pick up. They hadn't been given comms, as it hadn't been a Shield operation. 

Natasha had gotten wind of an agent of the Red Room sending drugs across to America and when nobody could dissuade her not to go, Clint had known he would go with her. 

Phil had covered for them, saying it would all be off the books. 

And now he wasn't picking up his damned phone. 

Clint blew out a frustrated breath and focused on his partner.  
Her steady pulse reassured him, as did the fact that she was already groaning softly and starting to come around. They'd been knocked out plenty, it wasn't the first time and it wouldn't be the last. 

"Natasha?" He asked softly, not touching her as she blinked her eyes open and looked up at him. 

She immediately recognised him and her features smoothed out. "Clint." She mumbled, rubbing the dried blood at her temple and pushing herself up.

With Natasha coherent and sure of where she was, he reached for her again, now he knew she wouldn't fight him. Neither of them tended to wake up well.

"I'm alright, one caught me by surprise." She grimaced, accepting the help up to her feet. She looked steadfastly at the floor, her brows furrowed.

"Tash? Talk to me, Zvezda Moya." He said softly, tipping her chin up with his finger.

"I can't believe he got to me." She growled, obviously frustrated. "I'm supposed to be better than them." She hissed. "How could I have been so stupid?"

Clint blinked and shook his head. "Tash, it happens to everyone. You're not indestructible, believe it or not, you're human. Humans aren't perfect." He murmured. 

"I was supposed to be." She jutted her chin out, her eyes focusing on anything but his.

"Nobody is, Tasha, nobody." He sad firmly. "Whatever they told you was wrong, you know that deep down." He dipped his head into her line of sight. "Okay? You're not a robot. Sometimes someone gets the drop on us, and that's okay. Now can we please get out of here?" He asked softly.

Natasha swallowed hard and nodded. "That's probably a good idea."

They both stepped forward to find the way out, Clint nearly crumpling to the floor.

Natasha's eyes widened and she grabbed his shoulders, avoiding him hitting the floor. "Clint?" She supported his weight. "You're hurt-" 

"Told you we weren't robots." He grinned, though he felt faintly like throwing up at the pain. His face paled and he bit hard on his lower lip. 

"I'm pretty sure my ankle is broken-" he grimaced, smiling sheepishly. 

"Honestly Clint, how the hell did you manage that?" She muttered, lowering him onto the floor, gentle. 

"I may or may not have jumped from up there." He pointed up at the ceiling, the sheepish expression still on his face. 

"Clint!" She scolded, shaking her head. "How many times do me and Phil have to tell you to climb down like a normal person!" 

"There wasn't time!" He insisted, flushing slightly.

"You wanted to show off." Natasha argued, sliding her knife out of her boot and cutting the bottom of his pants. "You're hopeless." She murmured, wincing sympathetically as she peeled back the material.

"That's why you love me." Clint chuckled, still looking queasy.  
Natasha just tutted as her gentle fingers probed the mottled and already bruised skin. Clint inhaled sharply and Natasha apologised quietly, rocking back on her heels. 

"It's definitely broken." She murmured, "but there's not much anyone can do here. We have to get back to Shield. Did you try Phil?" Her hand stayed on his leg, her thumb brushing gently over his skin. 

Swallowing back another wave of nausea, Clint nodded and took out his phone again, dialling Phil. It went through the answer phone again and Clint shrugged. "We'll have to walk."

"You mean I have to walk, and drag you." Natasha quipped, a small worried smile on her face.

"What would I do without you?" Clint grinned. 

"Wither and die." Natasha said seriously, her eyes twinkling. "Now, come on, it's freezing in here and I really want a hot shower." 

Clint grinned and winked. "There's an image I'm not getting out of my head any time soon." He breathed and Natasha rolled her eyes, standing and leaning to pull her partner up.  
Once they were both standing, Natasha wrapped Clint's arm around her shoulders. Together, they made it to the exit. Once there, Clint pulled himself away, resting his palms on his knees as he hunched forward. 

His was visibly sweating, his face pale. Looking about ready to throw up, Natasha out her cool hand against his forehead. "My poor little kotyonok." She cooed, stroking back the sweaty strands of his hair from his forehead. 

"I told you not to call me that." Clint groaned, leaning against her.

"I don't care." Natasha shrugged.

Clint's phone began blaring then, Men in black playing as Phil's name came up on the screen. Lips twitching, Natasha accepted the call. "Time to go home, kotyonok."

Later that evening, Natasha walked into Clint's room, knocking once.

Clint lay back on the bed, his ankle wrapped in a purple plaster cast, his eyelids drooping. He'd been pumped full of pain meds and was happier than anything to see Natasha. 

"Aw, your head!" Clint pouted, pointing at the small line of stitches across her temple.

Natasha pursed her lips and shook her head, silently crawling up to lay beside him. Clint grinned and clumsily wrapped his arm around her waist. "My little red." He sighed happily, fascinated as he stroked a hand through her red locks.

"Rest now, kotyonok." Natasha stifled a giggle and resisted the urge to pull out her phone and record him. 

"You're gonna be just fine." She smiled, tipping her head back and closing her eyes. Just relaxing into his touch and warmth. They were home and whilst Clint was high as anything, they were okay. As long as they had each other, they would always be fine.


	7. Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a mission goes wrong and Clint and Natasha are captured, their captors hurt each of them to get information from the other. Will either of them break before the other gets hurt beyond saving? And will Shield find them before it's too late? Day 7 of prompt challenge, heed warnings, and enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heed warnings for this one. Mentions of non con touching and thoughts of going further. No rape but it's slightly implied that someone wouldn't mind doing that to someone. Graphic violence and torture, blood etc. Let me know if more warnings need to be added.  
> Hey everyone welcome to this angst filled one shot, aka day 7 of the prompt challenge. Enjoy.  
> Translations: may be wrong  
> my proydem cherez eto – we will get through this  
> net, Klint, ne govori - no, Clint, do not tell  
> kotyonok – kitten  
> moya zvezda – my star

When Natasha came to, her body was screaming at her. Wincing, she listened for a few seconds. Just the sound of her own breathing, and there close by, another person. 

Natasha blinked and slowly lifted her head, trying to piece together what had happened. 

She didn't remember much, just her and Clint, dancing together. They were on a mission and the dancing thing was a typical cover for them. It wasn't supposed to be too brutal of a mission so she had actually just been enjoying their time together. As the months had passed and turned into nearly a year, Natasha's feelings had slowly been coming to a head. 

Clint had been looking at her like she was the most beautiful thing in the world and she'd ducked her head, her cheeks flushing. It was the closest she'd ever gotten to kissing him. She knew neither of them would jeopardise a mission by doing something like that, especially not in front of a room full of people. If it ever happened, Natasha would want it to be completely private.

Anyway, they had been dancing and sizing up the room and then...and then, Natasha had no clue what had happened next. 

She knew that she was bound. Her wrists were together and tied up above her head, just enough that the rope pulled painfully on her shoulders. Her feet were also tied, attached to what looked like, from what she could see in the dark, metal shackles. She gave soft tugs, followed by stronger pulls on her bindings but nothing budged. 

Cursing, she lifted her head to look around the room and that's when she saw Clint. She blamed whatever head injury she'd gotten for the fact she forgot she heard the breathing of another person.

"Clint?" She called, straining forward. She could just see drops of red matting in his hair, blood dripping down his forehead and into his eyes. "Clint?" She shouted now, her heart racing. 

Slowly, her partners head lifted some as he began to come around. A soft groan escaped his lips as he forced his eyelids open.

"Clint, hey, look at me." Natasha demanded, her wrists burning as she tried to pull herself closer towards him. 

Slowly, he obliged, his eyes dragging from the floor to meet her gaze. "Natasha-" he said thickly, his eyes wide. He immediately began yanking on his own bindings, his different to hers. He was sat on a chair, his hands tied behind him and his ankles bound. Metal shackles attached the bindings to metal loops on the floors.

His gaze was slightly stricken as he realised the gravity of the situation.  
The difference in their bindings sent Clint's hair on end. It suggested that they weren't going to be treated the same. His musings were cut shut when he heard the clicking noise of a door opening.

Both their heads shot up, Natasha silently lifting her head whilst Clint growled and pulled at his bindings.

"Black Widow and Hawkeye..." the man who walked in chuckled, another two men following behind him. 

"At least give us the courtesy of knowing who you are." Natasha ground out. 

"You can call me...Anton. pretty soon you're going to be screaming it." 

Both Clint and Natasha snorted, and the man's smiled dropped. 

"Really, man?" Clint chuckled, shaking his head. "Really?" 

'Anton' gestured for the men to step forward, one sliding up behind Clint and yanking his head back, the cold feeling of a knife settling across his throat.

Clint's laughter instantly dried up and his eyes found Natasha's. 

He had no idea if these men were going to torture them, kill them straight away or kill them after torturing them. This hadn't even seen the man they'd gone to the party to find, he'd never seen this man and by the look on his partners face, she'd never seen him either.

The other man headed for Natasha, his hand tangling in her red locks as he yanked her head back too. This time a knife was pointed over her chest. 

"Either of you decide something I say is funny again," Anton raised an eyebrow, "and you get to watch the other bleed out." 

The men released their grips and Natasha glared at them. "What do you want?" She spat out.

"Oh, really? I'm disappointed." Anton tutted. "I thought you would have realised that already." He sighed. "I want information, darlings. Do you honestly not know how I am?" He looked around expectantly. 

"No such pleasure." Clint quipped, his eyes dark. 

"Hmm, Shield is keeping even more secrets than they used to. I worked for Shield, you know, before I got cast out. They hunted me when I left. Spent years trying to kill me."

Clint and Natasha looked equally as blank. Clint knew that Shield wouldn't have hunted him if he'd just been an agent that had wanted to leave. 

"Very well," Anton sighed, "It doesn't matter. I want what I want and you're going to give it to me." 

"Are we?" Natasha smiled, her eyes hooded with anger. "I don't think so."

"I do." Anton grinned. "Believe me, I've been watching you two. I see what you're so desperate to hide." He cooed, stroking a finger down Natasha's cheek.

"You're in love." He simpered, his finger reaching the top of the dress Clint had chosen for her, just brushing over the top of her breast. "I can see why, Clinton, she is oh so beautiful. I wouldn't mind that myself." 

Natasha swallowed, her gaze now glazed over as she fought back the memories in her head.

Clint growled and pulled himself forward. "Don't fucking touch her!" He shouted.  
Anton turned to face him, his eyes lit up with glee. "Thank you for confirming it." He grinned, clicking his fingers and taking a step back.

The man nearest Natasha walked over to the door, typing in a code that Clint couldn't see, pulling open the heavy metal doors. He reached outside and pulled in a little cart on wheels. He dragged it over to them and peeled off the cover.

There lay a myriad of weapons. Different knives, guns, whips with different ends, scissors and something that looked like a doctors scalpel. 

"Wow what a party." Clint deadpanned and immediately regretted it when the man next to the cart turned and slammed his fist into Natasha's ribs.

Clint's shoulders screamed at him as he tried to get to her.

Natasha didn't make a sound, just bit hard on her lower lip. Her face was screwed up with pain, and despite her best efforts, tears of surprise leaked down her cheeks.

She inhaled raggedly before lifting her head defiantly.

Clint wanted to apologise, his own cockiness had caused that. He would be quiet. 

"You see what happens when you misbehave?" Anton chuckled.

"Alright boys, pick your first thing to play with." He gestured at the cart.

Now, he looked between Natasha and Clint. "You're going to tell me about Shield. About who is in charge, who gives the orders, the missions you have going on. All of it." He smiled. 

The two agents caught each other’s gaze and they both blinked three times in a row. They wouldn't betray Shield.  
They'd gone through this many times, it had been in Natasha's training. Believe it or not, it was common if agents were captured, the captors would use the agents against each other. It was why relationships between Shield agents were not allowed. They might care more about each other than they did about protecting Shield.

Whilst Natasha knew she did care about Clint more than Shield, she knew that Coulson would be trying to find them. They just had to hang on until help came. That in itself, Natasha hated, having to rely on others for help.

They could hold out until then.

When neither of them spoke, Anton sighed and nodded at the men. 

They each walked to the cart and picked up an item. The man next to Natasha went for a small, three headed whip, with what looked like barbed wire around the points. The man next to Clint went simple, with a wicked looking knife. 

Anton looked between them. "He will break before her. The girl first." He grinned.

Natasha's man picked up the scissors too, walking over and pressing the blade to the dip between her cleavage. He looked back in question and Anton nodded. With a sick glee in his eyes, the scissors began cutting into the material of her dress. In seconds, the material was pooled on the floor and Natasha was left in her under garments. 

She made no sound, her head lifted in defiance as she stared the man down. Clint on the other hand, was livid, growling and lurching in the chair.

Anton whistled as his eyes roved her body. "Damn, no wonder you love her." He purred.

"Alright, let's get started." 

The first time the whip came down on Natasha's bare back, she closed her eyes, biting hard enough on her lip to draw blood. 

Clint was shouting now, his wrists near bleeding as he pulled against the shackles.

The whip came down again, and again. Natasha still made no sound but Clint could see the tears on her cheeks.

From his angle, he couldn't see her back but he could imagine the blood, the barbed wire getting caught in her skin and then yanked as the man pulled the whip back. 

Five more times the whip came down, the redhead jerking and starting to squirm, her lips bloody and bitten as she fought the keep quiet. 

When Anton gestured for him to stop, Natasha let out a shaky breath, her eyelids fluttering open. Her eyes were glazed over and her breathing ragged but Clint could feel pride burning in his chest. She hadn't made a single sound.  
Are you ready to talk, Hawk?" Anton glanced away from her body to him.  
Clint just growled in response, his face flushed with anger. 

"No? Oh well. Let's see if your pretty redhead will decide to talk." He clicked his fingers and the man with the knife advanced on Clint.

Natasha looked pained as she struggled, her eyes dark with unshed tears. 

The knife first cut up his dress shirt, the material coming away like it was butter.

As the shirt fell to the floor, the knife pressed against his chest, digging deep as it cut into his skin. Clint grunted but otherwise stayed quiet as the man continued is ministrations. Soon it was almost impossible to see the knife through all of the blood, cuts littering his chest and torso. The man hadn't caught any veins but he didn't have to with the sheer amount of cuts he'd inflicted. Clint was decidedly paler when the man pulled away, his hands covered in Clint's blood.

Anton looked over at Natasha, raising an eyebrow in question. Natasha pulled her gaze from Clint and jutted her chin out, still defiant.

"Very well." Anton sighed, reaching forward to swipe his finger through the blood. He then walked to Natasha and drew a simple cross across her stomach in Clint's blood. His hand flattened against her skin, his warm, sweaty grip roving over her neck and shoulder and down her breasts. Natasha inhaled sharply, trying to pull back, her breath coming in sharp gasps. 

Clint shouted expletives, his face a storm as he threatened to rip out their spines.  
"Natasha, my proydem cherez eto." He breathed, trying to catch her panicked gaze. 

Slowly, Anton stepped back, a sick grin on his face. 

Natasha frantically struggled to catch her breath, in the midst of either a flashback or a panic attack, he couldn't tell.

He was helpless to do anything to help but continue reassuring her in Russian. 

"He's definitely going to break first. Continue with her, he's the weak one." Anton grinned and Natasha's man smiled. 

He picked the whip back up, this time hitting her where Clint could see, against the cross drawn in his blood. 

The whip landed between her breasts and across her stomach, Clint watching as her muscles tensed beneath the blood. The barbs often got caught in her skin and would tear even more when he pulled the whip back.

When Natasha let out a breathy moan, Clint knew things were going downhill fast. It wasn't like the redhead was screaming but just that, the admission of pain and fear tore Clint's heart apart. 

" Natasha, my proydem cherez eto!" He repeated, but he was certain Natasha could barely hear him.

Her breaths were harsh and rapid, and Clint had seen it before. Her skin drained of colour and her eyes began to lose their life. 

When the man had grown tired of the whip, he reached underneath the covers on the cart and pulled out something that looked like a brand. On a metal stick, there sat a word Clint couldn't make out. On the letters sat tiny little spikes. 

The man lifted it and slowly walked over, examining her skin and deciding where he wanted to out it. He chose just above the waistline of her underwear and he silently jabbed the spikes into her skin, he repeated it twice before pulling it out and stepping back to let Clint see. 

'D O G' had been carved into her skin from the repeated use of the spikes. Clint spat in his direction, threatening them all anew.

"You can stop this if you just talk to us. She doesn't have to be hurt any longer." Anton cooed.  
"net, Klint, ne govori." Came Natasha's soft, weak voice.

Clint blinked at her voice, amazed to find her staring at him, fire in her eyes. Clint just nodded in return, swallowing the taste of bile in his throat. 

"Go to hell." Clint muttered, shaking his head.

Anton growled, annoyed at their tenacity. 

"Keep it up. He will break if I have to kill her first." 

The man next to Clint rolled his eyes. "What do I get to do?'' He complained. 

Anton thought for a moment. "It wouldn't hurt for both of you to have some fun. Do what you want, just don't kill her." Anton shrugged.  
The two men spent the next ten minutes pummelling the living shit out of Natasha. 

Natasha was so close to passing out that she was making noise now. Soft whimpers and moans ripped themselves from her throat. 

Bruises instantly appeared on her pale skin, and from her hitching breaths, something was very very wrong. 

"Natasha, talk to me!" Clint shouted, his heartbeat roaring in his ears.

With another whimper, Natasha's eyelids shut and her body went limp, only standing from the ropes attaching her wrists to the wall. Her head fell forward against her chest and Clint couldn't see her move again.

"Stop!" He shouted, faintly feeling his wrist popping out of place as he lurched forward again. 

Their fists slowly stopped and Anton sighed. "Tell me what I need to know and they'll stop." 

"I'll tell you." Clint breathed, feeling like he was about to be sick. "I'll tell you, just stop." 

Anton nodded and clicked his fingers, the men stepping back from Natasha. 

"Good. Let's talk." 

That was when Shield burst through the door.

Phil and Maria were at the forefront, numerous other Shield agents behind them. Vaguely, Clint realised that this was the most agents he'd ever seen on a rescue mission. He was sure he even noticed the dark hair of Agent Melinda May besides Hill.

In seconds, the three men were down and Clint shouted for them to keep Anton alive. He would have the pleasure of watching the life fade from his eyes himself.  
Hill stepped forward, sliding out a knife and silently cutting away his bindings. He stood immediately, stumbling a little but still heading straight for Natasha. 

He watched Phil cut loose her own ties, catching her limp body is in arms as she slumped forward. 

He gently pressed her on her side on the floor, gesturing for the agents to scan the rest of the building. Only him and Hill remained, Phil rushing to pull off his jacket, laying it over his prone agent.

Clint crashed to his knees beside her, watching the shaky rise and fall of her chest. 

"Tasha?" He whispered, almost frightened to put his hand on her.

Coulson pressed two fingers to the side of her neck as Hill stood guard.

Phil looked up at Clint for a second. "We're just waiting for the all clear. There doesn't seem to be any body else here but we have to be sure so when we move her, we get her straight out and to the quinjet." Coulson said quietly, his eyes appraising Clint's shaking form. 

Clint just nodded, reaching to push her hair out of her eyes. Her red locks were matted with blood and stuck to the drying blood in her eyes.

"I think...they whipped her, a lot. But when they hit her..." Clint stammered. "She's going to be bleeding internally." He mumbled, remembering the dark bruising across her torso. 

Phil nodded, "her pulse isn't great." He murmured lowly, "weak and fast. Her breathing is off, punctured lung maybe." He clarified, glancing up as someone spoke in his ear.

Phil nodded and pushed himself to his feet. "We're clear. Time to go." He lifted and pulled Natasha into his arms whilst Hill wrapped and arm around Clint's waist and helped him stand.

He would've insisted he was fine if his vision hadn't been swimming from blood loss. How they made it to the quinjet, he had no idea. Coulson's account of what had happened went in one ear and out the other. 

With Natasha in the safe hands of the medics, Clint let himself calm down soon. As the adrenaline began to fade, he felt the burning of his injuries. He was grateful when he sank down on the floor, and the darkness crept into his vision. It was with pleasure that he passed out.

Clint woke with the familiar white walls of Shield medical around him. Blinking, he turned and took stock of the IV in his hand, trickling some sort of clear liquid into his body.

Phil caught his attention and very quickly got him up to speed. Clint had lost a lot of blood and had had a blood transfusion, the liquid going into him now was some soft of sugar saline water. He had a concussion but other than that, he was okay.

Clint felt guilt gnaw at his stomach. Of course he was okay, Natasha had taken the brunt of their ministrations. He remembered bright blood and dark bruises, the fear when Natasha slumped and went still.

"Tasha?" He asked quietly.  
"Well, you've been out for almost half a day. They gave you some strong drugs when they did your stitches. They took nearly an hour."

"I don't care. Natasha?" He asked again. 

"She had surgery," Coulson started quietly, "She had internal bleeding. It took a long time to get it to stop. She's on blood still, but they're certain they got it all. She...coded on the table. They brought her back."

Clint swallowed hard. It was his fault. If he'd just told the men what they wanted to know. 

"Some ribs were broken and one punctured her lung. They stitched the hole but she's got a tube in her chest to make sure it doesn't collapse. Concussion. The...the whip marks were hard to stitch but they managed. The…the brand will heal. We can try laser removal at a later stage, but she will be stuck with it for a while.”  
Clint simply growled, the word dog etched on his brain.  
“She's asleep and on heavy drugs but she's gonna be okay now. She's stable." Phil murmured. "And yes, you can see here, and yes you're going in the wheelchair again and no, you can't take the IV out. By the time we got to medical, you'd lost about Three and a half pints of blood." Coulson shook his head.

Clint just blinked and nodded. "Noted." He looked down at his wrist, a plain white cast there.

"Oh, you broke your wrist." Coulson murmured. 

"Yeah, I was tryin' to get to her." Clint sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. 

 

Coulson nodded and pursed her lips. "We'll debrief tomorrow, for now, we'll get you to Tasha." 

After a couple minutes trying to sort out what wires he needed, Clint was on his way to his partner. Phil left him once he'd pushed him to the bed. 

Natasha woke up surprisingly lucid, her eyes hooded as she watched Clint. 

"Hey." She said quietly, her voice betraying how weak she felt. She absently scratched at the oxygen tube up her nose, wincing. 

"I can get them to give you some more pain meds-" Clint murmured, moving to stand.

"No, no its okay. I just...need some more rest. I don't need to be completely out of it." She grimaced.

Clint was afraid to touch her, even when she shuddered and her eyes clouded with memories. The way he'd touched her...she had thought he was going to...

"Clint." She gasped softly, licking over her chapped and cracked lips. 

"Natasha." He whispered. 

"Talk to me, Kotyonok." She mumbled, rubbing at her eyes. From the look of things, she was close to sleep.

"It was my fault." Clint breathed, shaking his head. "I could have stopped them. If I'd just spoken."

"I didn't talk when they cut you." Natasha argued, sighing. "I told you not to talk. It wasn't your fault, Clint." 

"But-"

"No." She ground out. "It wasn't your fault." She said firmly.

Clint only rubbed the back of his neck and stared down. 

Natasha's surprising strong grip touched his chin and forced him to look at her. "Believe me, Clint, it was Anton. You did what we'd been trained to do. We both did." Her grip dropped and her hand rubbed over her stomach, a deep sigh escaping her lips.

"I'm sorry. You need to sleep." Clint said quietly, his hand hovering, unsure.

"I don't mind you touching me, Clint. I know I jump away a lot but I would really appreciate a hug right now." She whispered, her big eyes filled with unshed tears.

Immediately Clint was very carefully situation himself beside her on the bed, his arm wrapping around her neck. 

She sighed happily and closed her eyes, leaning her head against his shoulder.  
''Moya zvezda." He whispered. "Sleep now, I've got you."

He looked down at her and as she drifted, pressed a kiss to her hairline. There would be plenty of time for real kisses, he promised himself. Now wasn't the right time.

That night, he stayed next to her, rousing her when her nightmares became too much, shushing her back to sleep. The nightmares did nothing to assuage his guilt but Clint knew that if Natasha didn't blame him, he shouldn't blame himself. He just helped soothe her, reassuring her that he was there. 

He loved her, he knew, but there would be time. He would always make sure they had time.


	8. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laying in bed after a hard mission, Clint and Natasha start a conversation about their scars. Feeling like they know each other better, leads them to think about their relationship and their first kiss may be around the corner. More fluffy than usual. Day 8 of prompt challenge, enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone welcome to day 8 of the prompt challenge. Warnings for chat about self-harm and suicide attempts, as well as other wounds.

Between the two agents, Natasha and Clint had an awful lot of scars. They never spoke about them and no one ever brought it up with them. For one, they were too afraid of the couple and second, they realised it was none of their damn business. 

After a particular messy mission, Clint and Natasha were in the formers room at Shield. Sinking down onto the side of the bed, Natasha pulled a face and dragged a hand over her eyes. 

"We really need to clean up. I feel disgusting." She muttered, trying to work up the energy and get her bitching muscles to cooperate. 

Clint snorted. "For sure. We went past the stinking stage about two days ago." He smiled tiredly but forced himself up and offered his hand.

Accepting, Natasha followed him into the bathroom. They'd long gone past the point of being nervous and embarrassed undressing in front of each other. 

Clint turned the hot water on and turned to Natasha. "Can I?" He asked gently, pulling off his own shirt and throwing it straight in the trash.

Natasha nodded, stifling a yawn. "Be my guest, I honestly cannot be bothered." She shrugged, a tried smile pulling at her lips.

Clint grinned and turned her back towards him, carefully unzipping and peeling back her cat suit. He pulled the material all the way to her feet and helped her step out. He made quick work of the rest of her clothes, and his own before steering her into the shower.

Once under the water, Natasha let a soft groan escape her lips. "Damn that feels good." 

Clint chuckled and squirted her favourite shower gel onto a loofah, vanilla pumpkin, the one he'd got her for their first Christmas. She'd used it for the two years after that Christmas and no matter what, Clint always managed to replace it before it ran out.

After a soft hand gesture, asking for permission, Clint started to wash her upper body, humming softly as he did so. Blood and dirt dripped down and into the drain. 

"This okay?" He asked softly, brushing her hair off the back of her neck.

Natasha nodded silently, signing a quick thank you for his question.

After a mission had gone wrong and Clint had been left temporarily deaf, they'd both learned sign language. They used it often, when they were tired or on a mission where they couldn't talk. They did it just to piss Phil off, because the man had never gotten the hang of it.

Natasha tipped her head forward and sighed softly, oh so grateful for her Clint. She still got jumpy sometimes, and there were often times that Natasha didn't want anyone to touch her at all. It was always best, if they weren't in a dire a circumstance, to ask her. Most of the time, she would say it was fine to touch her. 

But sometimes, when the thought of hands touching her was too much, Clint would simply sit a little distance away until she was comfortable. 

When she was tired like this though, she liked touching, as long as it was Clint and only Clint.

After washing away the soap suds, he began to wash her hair. Whilst doing that, he massaged her scalp, earning little mewls from Natasha.  
Clint grinned, a little smug. After washing out the shampoo, he quickly washed himself, scrubbing hard to get through the layer of grime coating his skin.

Natasha leaned against the wall and let the water wash over her face, sighing softly. 

Once they were all done, Clint clambered out, handing Tasha a big fluffy towel. They were definitely not Shield issue and Clint had actually spent a small fortune on them. He told Natasha that they spent a long time winding down after missions so why shouldn't they have comfortable towels?

Natasha had agreed, as long as he didn't try to force the pink on her.

After getting dry, they both flounced on the bed, both of them in pairs of Clint's boxers, a black tank top on Natasha. Where it was possible, Clint didn't like wearing clothes to bed and Natasha had a thing about her legs being constricted. They both clambered on top of the covers and lay down, only a little light on the bedside cabinet illuminating their faces. 

Clint lay on his back, one arm behind his head. Natasha crawled beside him and leaned her head on his chest.

Smiling, Clint ran a hand through her damp hair.  
After a few seconds of just laying there, Natasha rubbed her thumb over a scar on the side of his chest. 

"What's this from?" She asked softly, sitting up to face him. 

Clint, feeling comfortable, realising that even if he didn't want to answer, Natasha wouldn't mind.

"Oh god, I have so many it's hard to remember sometimes." He frowned, pulling a face as he thought. "Ah, that one was maybe one of my first missions at Shield. Some guy blew out a fish tank, trying to get away, and I got glass stuck in my side." He shrugged, sitting up more now.

Natasha just nodded. "You wanna...ask me about any? I don't mind." She said softly.

Clint hummed and nodded, reaching forward to tap where he knew a scar lay beneath her shirt. "I never asked, just assumed, but that was The Winter Soldier thing?" 

Natasha nodded. That had been one of their only missions apart. She hadn't let him come to her for a week after that mission, so he'd never tended her wound like they usually did.

And so it began, both of them reaching and pointing at a scar.

Some they knew, like the scar around Natasha's neck. She'd tried to kill herself shortly after coming to America. 

The white lines across her thighs and arms, he knew too.

She knew about the scar on his shoulder, the one left by his brother.

Others, they'd gotten on missions together, scars from guns and knives. One on her thigh from a building explosion, one through his hand from a torture session.

"This one?" Natasha asked.

"Um...mission in Germany, man got angry." He chuckled.

"This one?"

"The Red Room left that one." She shrugged.

It was pleasantly cathartic to have all their scars and wounds laid out in front of one another. 

When they'd eventually ran out of ran out of scars to discuss, Natasha lay back down, stretching out and yawning. 

"That was nice, thank you Tasha." Clint hummed, stroking a hand down her back.

"It was." She agreed softly.  
"You know I heard Jenkins talking to the new recruit earlier." Natasha smirked, her finger idly drawing a pattern across his chest.

"I'm sure you did. And?" 

"Well she was asking whether anyone actually listened to the interpersonal agent relationship rules. And he told her that if Black Widow and Hawkeye didn't have to listen to the rules, then no one else did."

Clint blinked and nodded. "Ah, I see. They think we're together."

"Actually, he thinks we're married." Natasha chuckled. 

"Oh." Clint blinked then grinned. "Why does everyone assume that?" He snickered.

"I guess because we're so close." Natasha shrugged, tilting her head up to look at him.

"I guess so." Clint shook his head, bemused. "Not necessarily a bad thing for them to think. Though Phil is gonna be mad that we're making them think that rule doesn't matter." He chuckled.  
"Yeah he is. But...is it so strange to think of us together?" Natasha sat up, turning to face him.

Clint shrugged. "Not really. We are close and..." he looked away, a little red in the face.

"And what?" She frowned, still terrible at reading cues. A mark? Completely easy to read. Clint? Difficult.

"I have wanted to kiss you for a while." He chuckled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck the way he did when he was nervous.

"Really?" Natasha blinked.

"Yeah, Tash, c'mon." He mumbled. "It wasn't obvious?"

"It uh...Maybe?" She frowned, tilting her head back. 

"I...dammit, I shouldn't have said anything. I know it's not...you're not there yet and...even if you were, why would you pick me?" He mumbled.

"Clint?" 

"What?"

"Shut up." Natasha said fondly, leaning closer to him. "Can I kiss you?" She asked softly, her eyes twinkling. 

"I...uh...fuck...yes." Clint stammered, lifting his head.

Natasha leaned in and closed the distance, pressing her lips to his. It was fleeting, a couple of seconds at most but as she pulled back, a grin on her face, they realised it had been the single best kiss of both of their lives.


	9. Self-Inflicted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for self-harm When Clint wakes Natasha from a nightmare, she attacks him. When he leaves the room, stricken, Natasha retreats to the bathroom and cuts herself. It's then up to Natasha whether she hides or she lets Clint see and help. An early day 9 of prompt challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey I got the writing itch so two updates in a day it is. Hope you don't mind! Trigger warnings for Red Room stuff, self-harm, flashbacks and nightmares, plus general violence.  
> Translations: may be wrong  
> net ... net ostanovki, ya etogo ne sdelayu – no, no I won’t do it  
> moya Zvezda – my star  
> Moy solnechnyy svet – my sunlight

A whimper pulled Clint from his sleep, something about a beach and hot dogs on the beach.

He sat up, looking over at Natasha.

The redhead was writhing under the covers, whimpering and talking in broken Russian.  
" net ... net ostanovki, ya etogo ne sdelayu!" She shuddered, her hands hitting out at something only she could see. She tossed and turned, a louder whimper escaping her lips.

Clint climbed out of the bed, calmly pulling the covers off her and taking a few steps back. 

From a safe distance, he shouted out Natasha's name.

"Natasha, Tash wake up!" 

When she continued thrashing, he picked up a fallen pillow. Holding his breath, he threw it at her. The contact pulled her from the worst of the nightmare and she sat bolt upright. 

"Tasha?" He asked softly, wincing and pressing his back against the wall as she came at him. The knife she always hid beneath her pillow was dancing in her fingertips.

"Natasha, it's Clint, it's me! I'm not going to hurt you. Nat, please. You're safe!" 

He wouldn't hurt her.

She stepped towards him, with the grace of a ballet dancer and the danger of a predator. She pushed him closer to the wall, her arm across his throat. The knife glinted in the moonlight as she held it under his jaw.

Her breathing was harsh and ragged, her voice cold and emotionless when she spoke.

"Whoever you are, I'd think twice about touching me." She hissed, the knife nicking the side of his jaw.

He stayed still, his hands held up. 

"It's me, Natasha, it's Clint. You're okay-" he said quietly.

Natasha shook her head, blinking rapidly. She took a few steps backwards, the knife clattering to the floor.

She followed soon after, slumping on all fours, gasping for breath. 

Clint peeled himself from the wall and knelt in front of her, still at least two feet away from her. 

"Natasha?" He asked quietly, even as he grabbed the knife and threw it across the room. It landed tip first in the plaster, just missing the shelves they'd put up together. 

"Clint-" Natasha whispered, her voice husky and pained.

"I'm here, it's okay, you're here. It's safe." He murmured gently. 

"I could have killed you-" She whispered, shaking her head. 

"You didn't. You stopped yourself. We're okay. I promise." He said softly. "Natasha can I touch you?" 

The redhead nodded slowly and he immediately crawled towards her. He touched her shoulder and gently pushed her so she was sitting. His fingers brushed her cheek and pushed back the hair stuck to her forehead. "You're okay." He said again. "What can I do?" He asked, softer still. 

"I..." Natasha frowned, tilting her head up. "Juice?'' She asked softly, a slight tremble to her voice.

He would never deny her anything. "Of course. Any preference?" 

"Strawberry." She said quietly, seeming more herself. 

Clint nodded. "Of course, moya zvezda. Anything. I'll be right back, try to relax." He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead and stood. 

When he had left the room, Natasha stood on shaky limbs. She headed to the wall and silently pulled the knife out from the plaster.  
Taking the hilt in her grip, she padded over to the bathroom. She closed the door, locked it and turned on the harsh over head lights.

She clambered into the shower and turned on the hot water. After a few seconds of letting the water wake her, she looked down at the knife. She was wearing a tank top, so her arms were bare.  
Natasha pressed the blade against her skin and drew it across. Blood immediately welled up and began to drip down, mixing with the water and swirling down the drain.

She pulled the blade over her skin another two times, watching as the blood sprung up and dripped down her skin. 

It had been years since she'd last taken a blade to herself, and she...felt different. She didn't feel...anything. Just the stinging of the cuts and a sense of guilt and hatred deep in her stomach. 

She dropped the knife, frowning in confusion. A long time ago, it had made her feel better. One of the mantras in The Red Room had been 'pain in clarity'.

It would be said just before a beating and again after. 

Natasha stared down at knife, her face twisting. Tears welled up but didn't drop as she growled and pulled her knees to her chest. 

She had made a mistake. She'd broken her streak of being clean and for what? All she felt was guilt and anger at herself. 

That was when she heard the door. She had a split second decision to cover herself with a jacket and leave the bathroom or stay there and let Clint find her.

She chose the latter, silently looking towards the door.

"Natasha? I got your juice. And a snack, I figured you might be hungry." The sound of things being set down. 

"Tasha?" Came the voice again, a hint of fear in his voice now.

A knocking on the door came the next second. "Natasha? Open the door. Don't make me kick it down."

But Natasha couldn't move, her limbs frozen. 

"Clint-" She choked out and with that, she heard the sounds of the lock on the door being hit with something heavy. 

Seconds later, there Clint was. 

He froze for a second, his sharp eyes taking in everything.  
"Oh, moy solnechnyy svet." Clint breathed, stepping towards her. He grabbed one of the towels and asked softly for her to give him her arm. 

She did so, her gaze on the floor and anywhere but at him.

"Natasha, are you with me?" He asked, wrapping the towel around her arm and holding it in place.

The redhead nodded and bit on her lip. "I...I stopped." She said quietly. "I started and I...I didn't like it. It didn't...help me. It only made me feel worse." 

"Tasha..." he murmured, gently lifting her chin with his free hand. “It’s alright." He wasn't going to belittle her and tell her he understood.

"Relapse happens, Natasha, okay?" He murmured, thumb brushing over her cheek. 

"But I'm...supposed to be strong." She shook her head.

"You are, moya zvezda. You're the strongest person I know. And the bravest. You could have hidden this from me. Or you could have continued. You stopped. You let me see you. You're letting me help. That is strong, Natasha. That is oh so brave."  
Natasha sniffled delicately, slowly meeting his ga ze. "It is?"

"Yes." Clint said firmly. "I wouldn't lie to you." He said quietly. "We can figure this out. We...or you, can talk to Phil. We can get you back in with the therapist."

"They'll take me off missions. I'm unstable." She mumbled. 

"It was a mistake, Natasha. As long as you're attending therapy and being honest, as long as you feel you're okay to continue missions, you will. Maybe...a small break. Whilst you adjust." He suggested quietly, not wanting her to be blindsided by a break from missions.

She just nodded tiredly, rubbing her face. 

"Come on, we're both wet. I'll get us some clothes and you can have your drink and if you don't want to sleep, we can watch TV or play a game. Yeah?" He asked softly.

With another nod, Natasha began to pull herself up. After turning the shower off and wrapping a towel around her, he guided her to the edge of the bed. 

Ten minutes later, they were both in clean, dry clothes. He put on sweatpants and a shirt, since it didn't look likely they'd be sleeping. She had a pair of pyjama shorts and one of his shirts on. As she nuzzled into the material of his old tee, Clint cranked up the heating. He knew how she hated to be cold, it reminded her too much of dark nights chained to her bed, a thin blanket only just coming up to her waist. 

Once that was sorted, Clint handed her the juice and snack, apple slices (her favourite), and peeled off the bloodied towel.

"A few quick stitches and it'll be as good as new, alright moya zvezda?" 

Another nod.

Clint busied himself with her arm, humming sympathetically. "I'm sorry." He murmured, tying the stiches off and placing a clean bandage over them. 

He pressed a kiss there and gently took her hand. 

"You don't have to talk, Natasha, not right now." He said softly, leaning back on the bed and smiling as she curled up against his chest. Rubbing her back and pulling the blanket up to her chin, he kissed her temple. 

"You're okay, Tash. We're okay." He sighed softly, closing his eyes.

"Movie?" Came her soft voice and Clint nodded. 

"Absolutely, moy solnechnyy svet. Anything you want."


	10. Gunpoint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 10 of prompt challenge.  
> On a mission, our favourite assassins find themselves surrounded by agents that just won't stay down. With a gun against Natasha's head, will Clint manage to get them out of it before someone gets hurt?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, welcome to day 10! Warnings for general blood and violence, and seizures.
> 
> Today I bring you
> 
> GUNPOINT

Natasha and Clint stood back to back, both rapidly firing their guns, taking down everyone in a ten foot radius. 

Both breathing heavily, the glanced around at the bodies surrounding them. 

Neither of them got used to the killing, but in situations like these, it was what Coulson called 'necessary killing'.

The men and women they were taking down had something of immense danger in their basement. 

The Intel they'd gotten had been got at great risk to the Shield agents. Two had died and three more were in the infirmary. 

The group was ruthless and strong, no hesitation to shoot, stab and blow up anything, or anyone in their way.

Natasha and Clint knew just enough to get the mission done and retrieve the package down below.

Apparently they were searching for a chemical weapon, ready to detonate whilst their group took to the sky to avoid the blast. Apparently it would release a gas that would spread across the entire west coast of America.

They couldn't afford to let any of this group leave alive.

There was another thing that made the group different. Usually, their marks had some prevalence of self-preservation. But the agents of the group were certainly not afraid to die. 

They were all disposable and unafraid to run into a firefight they would not win. To protect the cause. To protect the device.

Natasha silently admired that. Often times they were slightly hindered in their attempts to both kill but also to stay alive.

This group fought avidly and all of them dove into a fight with gusto. 

"Targets in the hall are down." Clint spoke, pressing the comms closer to his ear. "Advancing to the basement."

"Copy." Came Phil's voice in their ears. "Don't forget to put the device in the case and agents, I don't need to remind you what will happen if you don't succeed."

"Yes Sir." They both spoke, nodding at each other and taking off around the corner. 

Natasha followed the blueprints on her phone, only talking to point out their next direction. 

They found a few more agents situated along the way but Natasha had no doubt that most of them would be in the basement, protecting their treasure.

They'd made a plan a few days prior and now it was time to put it into action.

Natasha made sure the case was secured to her hip and Clint pulled his bow from his back. 

Nodding at one another, Clint signed 'good luck' with his hands and leapt up to the ceiling.

He would be doing what he did best, crawling through the vents into the basements, shooting his bow from up there whilst Natasha took the door and used her gun and her widows bites if they got too close.

Natasha counted down from a minute and burst through the door, shooting immediately. 

From above, she heard the soft shutter of the vents opening and the swish as arrows rained down from the skies. 

They were the best for a reason, alone they were deadly, and together they were near on apocalyptic. 

There were three rings around the device. The first were their strongest, all men, all six feet or taller, and frankly, all built like bricks.

Together, the assassins handled the first ring, bodies dropping around her.

Natasha advanced on the second ring when she heard a voice in her ear.

"Widow, behind you, the guy you just dropped is back up." Clint spoke, notching another arrow and letting it fly.

Natasha turned back to the guy, eyebrows rising. He had a bullet hole straight through his chest, an arrow in his shoulder and yet he was still coming towards her.

"Uh, Phil, the Intel say anything about these guys not staying down?"

"The agents said they were strong and insistent, nothing about them surviving the bullets they pumped into him."

Natasha cursed and ducked, deploying her widow’s bites into the man's neck. He shuddered with the electricity, his body going slack as he dropped.

She then began to notice the stirring of the downed men, clambering back to their feet.

Natasha backed off, reloading her gun. "They're still coming!" She shouted, to Clint or Phil she wasn't sure.

She dipped and twirled, firing her guns rapidly and with a killer precision. If hit in the head, they seemed to drop and stay down. 

"Aim for the head. I'm not fighting any more damn zombie soldiers." She grunted as she was bodily slammed into the wall, her widow’s bites digging into the guys neck. 

"Soldiers-" Came Phil's voice. "Dammit, Widow, the blood results are back from the lab. They're pumped full of a solution similar to that of Captain America. They're making super soldiers."

Natasha cursed again, rolling across the floor and shooting.

Arrows flew around her, now situated only in the centre of their foreheads. 

"Brilliant." Came Clint's snarky voice, "Thanks for the heads up."

She could almost hear his eyes rolling.

They were severely outgunned as she finally got to the second ring of agents, she took the same courtesy with them, bullets shooting through their foreheads.  
Natasha was bruised and bloody, breathing hard with exertion as she reloaded yet again. In the brief moment between reloading and shooting, the men and a few women now, she realised, we're advancing. 

"Little help, Hawk." She grunted, using the last of her widow’s bites and cursing shield armoury for not figuring out how to give her more.

Just her guns now, she ducked a large fist coming towards her and unceremoniously pressed the barrel under his chin and pulled.

Blood splattered over her and she grimaced.

In such close quarters, it was becoming almost impossible to fire her guns. She dropped it and began to fight hand to hand, darting and gliding out the way with all the grace of the dancer she'd once been.

She took to slamming their heads down three times before moving to the next. Clint fell into the routine of shooting the ones further from her, as well sticking an arrow in the unconscious ones she'd downed.

A strong body came barrelling towards her, slamming her into the nearest wall. Her head hit the concrete but adrenaline kept her on her feet. A second later, an arrow came whizzing past her face and into the man. He dropped and she didn't have time to thank Clint before another was coming at her.

She didn't pull her punches, but she was starting to think they weren't getting out of there any time soon.

In all the time they'd been fighting, Natasha hadn't heard a single shot fired by any of the agents. It was slightly unnerving, and Natasha knew they were almost stronger than her even without guns.

But then she heard the faint sound of a gun safety being clicked off. Natasha had just enough presence of mind to duck as the bullet was fired. 

That gave the others the opportunity they'd been waiting for and two tall men grabbed her shoulders and pushed her up against the door.

Natasha was still and quiet, her eyes taking in the carnage in front of her.

Nearly all the agents were down. The two holding her and the woman, she saw now, with the gun. They had a gun at her temple before she could blink.

"I suggest that unless you want the woman's brains splattered across the room, you come down from there." The woman spoke, her gaze directed at the ceiling.

A few seconds later, Clint was dropping down from the vents and onto all fours.

An arrow was notched in his bow and it was levelled at the woman's head. 

"Seriously? Drop it, I won't hesitate to blow her head off." The woman cocked her head. 

Clint sighed and carefully placed his precious bow on the ground.  
"Come here, on your knees." She breathed, a wide, slightly maniacal grin on her face.

Clint did that, his eyes on Natasha.

The comms in their ears were silent, though they knew Phil was listening and if needed, he would send in reinforcements. If they gave the signal. 

Natasha pulled her eyes up to look at the woman, not cringing, even with the cool metal of the barrel pressed to her temple. 

"So, now what?" She drawled, arching her eyebrow. 

"Who sent you?" The woman growled. "Who dares come into my home, and kill my people?"

Natasha chuckled lowly. "Wouldn't you like to know." She hummed.

Clint openly glared at her, his eyes telling her to shut the hell up.

"Say, Tasha, when we get out of here, should we get pizza?" He asked pointedly.

"Nah, I'd rather burgers." She hummed.

"Understood." Came the soft voice, almost too quiet to hear. That was how Natasha knew the woman holding her hadn't heard the voice.

Pizza meant reinforcements, burgers meant they could handle it.

The woman growled. "I recognise you." She said after a moment, tilting her head. "Russian, despite how well you hide the accent. You’re kgb." She accused and Natasha grinned.

"Sure, if that's what you wanna believe." She shrugged.

The woman dug the barrel into her skin.

"I wouldn't test me if I were you." The woman snarled.

"This device will be successful. If you won't tell me who sent you, I'll just have to kill you." 

Natasha's eyes met Clint's and she jerked her head down once. 

The woman cocked the gun and pressed her finger to the trigger. 

"Now!" Natasha shouted and Clint leapt to his feet, forward rolling and sliding hid gun from its holster. 

He shot the men holding her in the kneecaps, forcing them down. 

Natasha pushed herself forward, grabbing the woman's hair. 

Her gun fired once, the shot ringing out in the room.

Clint shot the two men through the head, looking frantically for Natasha. 

His partner was on her back on the floor, blood in her hair and trailing down her cheek.

"No. No-" he gasped, just about having the presence of mind to turn to the woman and shoot her through the head before she could fire again.

He rushed over to Natasha's side, one hand falling to her neck as his eyes scanned her head.  
The bullet had grazed the side of her head, cutting through her hair and landing in the ground beside her.

She was conscious and her pulse was strong, which he took as a good sign. There was a lot of blood, most dripping into her eyes, but he knew head wounds bled a lot even when none severe. He hastily wiped her eyes with his sleeve and her glazed eyes forced themselves up to his face.

"Stay still." He breathed, pressing his sleeve to the wound.

Her breathing hitched and she winced, tugging her head to the side.

"The device-" She mumbled. "It's still on." 

Clint cursed and nodded, touching his comms. 

"Sir, Widow is down. Bullet grazed her head."

"Conscious?"

"Yes Sir, barely." He breathed and Coulson heard his frantic calls a second later.

"Tash, hey, open your eyes. Look at me, Nat, that's it. Sir, we need evac."

"They'll be with you in five. The device?"

"Still on, Sir, I'm about to disable it, if Natasha would just keep her eyes open-"

"Go. Now." Romanoff's slurred voice came in his ear.

"I'll sort it, just tell evac to be here."

"Copy. Over." Coulson chipped out.

Clint pulled himself from his partner, unclipped the case from her waist and rushed across to the device. 

He'd been in the army briefly, he knew how to disable bombs.

He quickly clipped the correct wires and picked up the device, placing it in the case and closing it.

"Done, Sir, I'll grab Widow and head to the roof."

"Understood. Three minutes."

Clint turned to his partner. "Tash, you still with me?" He asked, touching her shoulder.

She shuddered under his hands and her eyes, glazed over, stared at the ceiling.

"Natasha?" He murmured, returning his sleeve to her head.

Something akin to a gurgle left her throat and he watched with fear in his chest as her eyes rolled back into her head before the lids fluttered shut.

In seconds, her body was shaking and jerking under his touch. 

"Shit. Godammit." He cursed.  
"I can't move her, she's seizing-" he grunted, shoving his hands under her head to avoid her slamming her head down. 

Her body arched, limbs trembling as her muscles contracted.

"You know what to do, Hawk, stay calm and don't hold her down, cushion her head."

"Yes Sir." He murmured, not able to do anything but hold her head and watch, counting steadily in his head.

120 seconds, 121, 122, 123.

"Hawkeye, evac is landing on the roof." 

Clint nodded, though he couldn't see. 

"Can't move her yet." He muttered, more to himself as he watched, eyes stricken.

Bloody foam bubbled at her lips and he wished he could wipe it away. She'd either bitten her tongue or her cheeks and he winced in sympathy, able to imagine the pain. 

Slowly, too slowly for Clint's liking, her seizure began to calm. Her limbs twitched a few times before she went still. 

Clint pushed himself to his feet and slid his arms underneath her. He lifted her gently, holding her to his chest. 

He made his way to the roof, talking softly to her the whole time.

"We should've gone for pizza." He mumbled, climbing up the stairs to the roof.

He headed straight for the quinjet, medics waiting there for him.

"What happened, Barton?"

"A bullet caught her, there's a lot of blood and she hasn't been conscious for five minutes. She had a seizure, it lasted for three minutes, thirteen seconds." He breathed, placing her down on the stretcher they were both all too common with.

Phil was there and he headed to him, watching the medics from the corner of his eyes.

"Here." He muttered, handing the case over. 

Phil nodded and took it, placing it in a chest and locking it. 

"Job well done, Barton." He hummed, squeezing his shoulder. "We'll debrief tonight, for now go and sit with Natasha. And don't get in the way." He warned.

Clint nodded, heading to his partner. He didn't take her hand, not wanting to annoy the medics. 

Somebody had wiped her mouth and he was grateful. Apart from the blood streaming across her skin, she could've been sleeping.

As he watched, they attached monitors and leads to his partner, her vitals coming up on the screen.

Her heart rate was a little low, he noticed, but steady. Her blood pressure was low but certainly not as bad as it had ever been.

They placed an oxygen mask over her head, probing fingers touching the wound on the side of her head. 

He realised silently that they were probably going to have to shave the side of her head.

Just then, the monitors started screeching at them, her heart rate rising and faster.

She twitched before seizing again, a gurgle escaping her lips as she tore through the thin skin of her lips.  
"Get me 10 mil of diazepam." One of them ordered as a balled up blanket was shoved under her head. 

Clint swallowed the taste of bile, pushing himself back and further out of the way.

They couldn't get to Shield fast enough and he watched with his heart in his throat as they wheeled her down the ramp and straight into medical.

Later that night, Clint sat in the med room, his hand in Natasha's. 

She had thick white bandages around her head, a flash of hair peeking out.

They had indeed had to shave the side of her head and he knew beneath the bandages lay rows and layers of stitches.

They'd done every scan and test they could, but they wouldn't know until she woke up if there was any permanent damage. 

He had a feeling she would be more upset about her hair.

Two IV's were attached to the crooks of her elbows, one a steady stream of plasma and blood, the other painkillers and anti-seizure meds. She would be incredibly loopy when she woke up, and whilst they both normally laughed about it later, maybe sharing a recording of their partner high on the drugs, he knew this time wouldn't be like that. Not when she could have brain damage.

Clint settled back in the plastic hospital chair, Phil at the door, as they waited for their friend and partner to wake up. 

When she did, she blinked rapidly and dragged her gaze to Clint. When she muttered a soft, "my hairs gone isn't it?" And a dopey grin crossed her face, Clint felt his stomach finally settle.

There would be further testing, but he was sure in his heart that no permanent damage had been done. She would be okay; he would take care of her. He would reassure her that her hair looked beautiful, he would help her through whatever physical therapy she would need, he would look after the pills she would need.

When two completely bald agents walked into Shield a week later, no one made fun of them, no one stared. 

They walked close together, fingers brushing together. Both of them were smiling, Natasha a little shyly as she rubbed at her ear. 

"You're still beautiful to me, Tasha."


	11. Drowning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a simple recon mission goes very wrong, Natasha is drowned in a tub of water, right in front of her partner.  
> Will Clint be able to get free in time to save her?  
> Day 11 of prompt challenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, I'm switching up the order of the prompts but they're all going to get done so don't worry! Warnings for violence, water torture and cpr and other medical stuff. Welcome to day 11  
> Moya Zvezda – my star
> 
> DROWNING

As Natasha and Clint were dragged out of the cell they'd been sitting in, they caught each other's gaze and wondered how the hell it had all gone to shit so quickly.

They'd been doing a simple recon, just get the information and get out. They hadn't had orders to attack, hurt anyone or otherwise cause alarm. Just break into a room, copy some information onto a memory stick and leave.

But the next thing either of them knew, something was being thrown at them. At first Natasha had grabbed him and threw them beside the bed, thinking it was a grenade. But then a gas had begun to leak out of it and before either of them could draw a weapon, they were choking and spluttering.

Clint tried to cover his own mouth and Natasha's, his eyelids drooping as he watched her collapse beside him, unconscious. He just managed to do something disgusting and swallow the damn USB before he passed out too.

They'd woken up chained in a cell together, Natasha already awake and alert as Clint groaned. Not being able to touch each other, they used their eyes to check for injuries. Other than a pounding head and dry throat, they were both fine.

An hour or so had passed and then someone had swung open the door and unlocked their cell. They were unchained and dragged, three men on each of them, and dumped unceremoniously in different chains in a different room.

In front of them sat an old fashioned bath tub, metal and grimy looking, full nearly to the top with suspiciously murky looking water.

"I watched the cameras, we lost them when they hit the side of the bed. We couldn't catch what he did with the hard drive but it wasn't in the room." One of the men spoke, presumably to who was the leader at the front.

Natasha vaguely recognised him from the mission packs, but Clint looked clueless. No surprise there then, she thought fondly before being snapped to reality.

"Alright then, her first." The leader spoke up, pointing at Natasha.

In seconds the men were on her, one grabbing her hair and the other her shoulders. She was dragged over to the bathtub, chains snapping in her wake.

"Tell me where you hid the information, and I might let one of you leave here alive." The man said quietly.

When he was met with only glares, he nodded at the men holding Natasha. "Very well. Carry on." He hummed.

The man holding Natasha's hair tugged her until she was on her knees and hunched over. Fingers tightening around strands of hair, he bent and shoved her head into the water.

Clint growled and lurched against his chains.

At first Natasha didn't struggle. She stayed still and calm, thinking over and over how she'd read how to react in this exact situation (maybe not the exact situation, but drowning at least).

Number one rule, do not panic, or you will lose air quicker.

Her lungs burned and her chest ached deeply as the man held her head. When the time reached nearly two minutes, Natasha couldn't help but began to thrash in his grip. The urge to breathe was so strong but she resisted despite the blurring of her vision and the agony inside her chest.

Her limbs flailed some, her nails digging into the man's arm as she tried to make him loosen his grip. She was splashing water over the sides of the tub as she tried to break free.

She couldn't hear and there was a pressure inside her head that made it impossible to think.

Her struggles became weaker and weaker, until she had stopped clawing at him completely, her arms hung loosely at her sides. As her vision was encroached by darkness, she reflexively opened her mouth to try to breathe.

I'm going to die, she thought dizzily.

Water rushed in and down her throat and then she was gone.

Clint was shouting and screaming now, his wrists bleeding as he tried to get free of the cuffs.

"You're killing her, stop!" He shouted.

The man in charge nodded at the one holding her head and he slowly pulled Natasha's head from the water.

He let go of her hair and she slumped bonelessly against the cold concrete.

"Is she alive?" The leader frowned. "Tell me you didn't fucking kill her, we need her alive to get the information back, idiot!" He growled.

The man who had held her reached down and jabbed his fingers against her neck.

He looked up nervously. "She's dead." He swallowed and the leader growled.

"Idiot! Get out, grab everything, we're leaving!" He turned on his heels and walked out, slamming the door like a petulant child.

The rest of the men followed and Clint blinked rapidly. She'd been faking right? She was alive.

"Natasha, they're gone, you can stop now-" he breathed, her red hair covering her face so he couldn't see. He sat very still and waited for to see her chest rise and fall. It didn't.

He cursed and got as close to her as he could with the cuffs. He needed to help her. He needed to get free of the cuffs. There had to be something around to...there! A bobby pin yanked from hair was laying on their ground.

Straining and distantly feeling his wrist pop, not for the first time ever, he grabbed the metal pin.

In seconds his hands were free, next his ankles and then he was on his partner.

One hand pushed her wet hair from her face as the other pressed against her neck.

He stayed absolutely still for a few seconds until he was sure.

Nothing. Her heart wasn't beating and she wasn't breathing.

Her skin was cold and clammy as he first rolled her onto her side, slapping his hand down between her shoulder blades.

There was a soft gurgle that Clint would absolutely not relate to the death rattle he'd heard many times before.

Water spilled over her blue tinged lips and formed a puddle on the floor. He hit her again, hard, more water being expelled from her lungs.

He rolled her onto her back and laced his fingers together above her chest. He pressed them down over and over again against her chest, counting in his head.

Each compression was a little better and steadier as he got into a rhythm.

"Come...on...Tasha...breathe...dammit." He muttered in between compressions.

After thirty, he tipped her head back. Pinching her nose shut, he kept a finger under her chin and locked his lips against hers. He breathed deep into her mouth, quickly turning to check if her chest was moving. It was, which he realised vaguely meant he'd gotten a lot of the water out of her lungs.

After more rescue breathing, another round of cpr began. He cringed as he felt her ribs first groaning and then breaking under his hands.

He couldn't be deterred though and he continued to pump down on her chest and breathe for her.

He was beginning to tire, his own breathing fast and ragged.

It had to work, it had to.

He growled and hit her sternum with a balled up fist, and suddenly she was arching underneath him, coughing and spluttering desperately.

He pushed her into the recovery position, lightly hitting her back to help her cough up the excess water.

"It's okay, you're okay, just take nice deep breaths for me, okay?" He murmured, his free hand pressed reassuringly against her stomach. He could feel her muscles tightening and contracting as she violently threw up and coughed up water.

''Just breathe, Tash, it's alright."

Her skin was getting more colour back and her lips were more red than blue now.

After a few minutes, she calmed down and sank against him, shuddering and taking deep breaths.

He gently reached into her mouth, scooping out water and red tinged foam.

He touched her shoulder and pushed her hair back from her face, wincing at each rattle of her chest.

She was still visibly struggling for air, sometimes choking and gurgling until Clint hit her back or her sternum again.

"It's okay, you're okay." He murmured, his fingers pressed to the frantic pulse at her neck.

"Deep breaths, Tasha, I've got you." He repeated, only getting a soft choked noise as a response.

She looked like she was about to pass out, her chest heaving and her entire body trembling.

He wished he had a jacket or anything to cover her with, her shudders painful to watch.

"Look at me, moya Zvezda." He tilted her face up, "just look at me, keep your eyes open sweetheart."

Natasha responded slowly, blinking and forcing her gaze up to him.

"C…Clint-" She whispered, her voice hoarse.

"Hush, Natasha, just breathe for me. Please." He whispered, stroking a finger down her cheek.

"I'm getting us out of here." He said firmly, standing shakily and reaching down for her. She just about managed to wrap her arms around her neck, not complaining about being picked up.

He lifted her from the concrete, pressing her weight to his chest.

"Keep your eyes on me." He said softly, "you can do it, deep breaths."

When Coulson was called from a payphone ten minutes later, the man answered, worry in his tone. His agents hadn't been at the drop point and they hadn't had comms on them.

"Barton? What the hell happened, where are you?"

Clint peered out the phone booth, squinting at the road sign. He relayed the details to Phil.

"Are either of you hurt? A car is on its way."

"They…they had a bath tub. They held Natasha under the water, they didn't know what they were doing, when they pulled her out, she wasn't breathing." Clint murmured, closing his eyes against the memory of Natasha's limp form, her cold skin pale, his touch on her pulseless neck.

"Is she…?"

"She's alive. But she's not doing so good. Her breathing is…wet, there's a rattle in her chest and she's barely conscious. She…keeps struggling to breathe, it keeps halting and she won't take a breath until I hit her back or chest." He ground out and Phil heard a muttered curse, a soft slap and a desperate inhale.

"Please make them hurry up."

"I've cleared the roads and the traffic lights, they'll be with you in a few minutes."

"Thanks, Phil." The phone was disconnected them and Phil sat back, waiting for his agents to come through the door.

Later that night, Phil walked into Natasha's room, non-surprised to find Clint there. His agent was swathed in blankets, heating pads settled around her ankles. She had a tube down her throat, connected to a machine that hissed continuously.

He'd been paged when half an hour after returning, Natasha had coded in her room.

He'd almost ran there, finding Clint screaming at the doctors and hitting the centre of her chest. "It worked before-" He'd gasped, struggling as a guard had pulled him away from her side.

He'd watched, heart in his mouth and his hand around Clint's waist as they fought to bring her back. She'd looked smaller than she should under all the doctors ministrations. Her back had arched as electricity was forced through her, the sound of machines screaming drowning out the sounds of the defibrillator.

They'd gotten her back, and sedated her, forcing a tube down her throat.

They'd drained her lungs, and done what they could to warm her up. She was stable now, and would be physically fine once she came round from the sedation.

For now though, Phil took a seat next to Clint and wondered how he'd come to care so much for the stray he had brought in, and the stray Clint had brought in.

They were a team, the three of them, and Phil would never let them go.


	12. Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a mission goes awry, Clint ends up badly injured after he pushes Natasha out the way of an attack.  
> Will she be able to keep him alive until Shield gets there? Or will this sacrifice be his last?  
> Day 12 of prompt challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone welcomes to day 12! Now, bear with me if this doesn't seem wholly true to life, I have done a lot of research and I'm trying my best. Enjoy! Warnings for general violence, blood and panic attacks.  
> Kotyonok - kitten
> 
> SACRIFICE

Clint and Natasha stood next to each other, either guns or knives in their hands as they took down the large group coming towards them. 

They fought fast and efficiently, both dangerous in their own ways. They took down person after person, men and women alike, and never broke a sweat.

When the first wave of marks were down, the assassins were rounding the corner and onto the next fight.

The agents fighting them had their own weapons which always made fighting in closer quarters a little more difficult. 

They had to avoid bullets, fists and the pointy end of knives. They often came out of fights covered in bruises, shallow cuts and bullet grazes.

With only two men left to fight, Clint backed up across the bodies to fill in Phil and get their next orders.

That was how Clint saw one of the downed agents rise to his feet and come at Natasha from behind, a bloodied knife in his grip.

"Widow!" He shouted, cutting off whatever Phil had been saying in his ear.

His voice didn't carry and Natasha hadn't seen the man. He was advancing on her and he had the knife pointed at her back. She was busy with her hands around a man's neck and she wouldn't see it time. He reach her and the knife would hit her-

In seconds, he was across the room and shoving into Natasha. She caught herself in time to avoid sprawling across the floor.

"Clint! What the hell?!" She growled, whipping around. 

Clint had a hand clamped over his neck and blood bubbled under his fingers.

With a soft groan, he tipped and landed on his knees, his eyes wide and verging on panicked.

The man he'd pushed her away from had already collapsed, bleeding out from his shoulder.

She fell besides Clint just has he tilted backwards and onto the floor.

"Clint-" She gasped, prying his fingers from his neck.

Her eyes widened as she realised what had happened. By pushing her out of the way, he'd caught the knife and it had slashed across his throat.

She clamped her hand around his throat, tight enough to try and stop the blood but not enough to cut off his breathing.

"You shouldn't have done that." She whispered, alarmed as the blood escaped through her fingertips and down his chest.

"I..." he gurgled, coughing as blood bubbled over his lips.

"Hush. Don't speak, I've got you-" She breathed, pressing a little tighter. 

"Sir, Hawkeye is down-" She kept her voice came for Clint's benefit.

"What happened? Evac is ten minutes away." 

"The idiot pushed me out the way of one of them. His throat is cut. It…it's bad but he's breathing, his trachea seems to be intact." She murmured, gently brushing back strands of his sandy hair from his forehead.

"Dammit-" Phil cursed. "You know what to do, I'll try to get evac there quicker."

"Yes Sir." She murmured and turned her attention back to her partner.

Clint's brows were furrowed, thin lines of pain evident on his face. His skin was all but drained of colour as the blood continued to pulse up under her hands.

"I've got you." She repeated firmly, hating the sound of his gurgling breaths. 

"Just keep breathing, Clint, you're not leaving me." She murmured, stroking a thumb over his forehead.

He was going to bleed out in a matter of minutes and her hand wasn't cutting it. 

She cursed their use of leather outfits, having no shirt to wrap around his throat.

She slid her knife free with one hand and expertly cut through the shoulder of her catsuit, tearing the material from her arm.

Once the material was free, she briefly pulled her hand away and replaced it with the black leather. 

His limbs jerked at the pain as his breaths came harsh and wet sounding.

"Stay still. You're gonna be okay." She whispered.

Clint's eyelids were already beginning to flutter and she cursed, hand on his cheek.

"Clint, look at me. Look at me!" She demanded, watching his glazed over eyes struggling to find her face.

He opened his mouth like he was trying to speak and she shook her head, wiping a reassuring thumb very his cheekbone.

"Just keep looking at me, Kotyonok, you're gonna be okay." She murmured, watching with her heart in her throat as he struggled to keep his eyes open.

"Don't ever do that again, my life is not worth yours." She hummed, shaking her head.

His gaze told her that he would willingly do it again.

"You don't sacrifice yourself for me, Barton, okay?"

A soft, bloody smile appeared on his face. His hand came up to touch her cheek and she could imagine his words.

"I don't think I'm making it out of this one, Natasha. Don't blame yourself, I chose this."

The next moment his hand was dropping limply to the side of his body and his head was tilting to the side.

"Clint-" She whispered, tapping his face and gripping his shoulder. "Clint!" 

His eyes were closed, his skin so pale her heart raced. 

Her fingers scrambled for his wrist, her fingers pressing to his pulse point. 

There was a soft flutter under her fingers, his pulse weak, fast and erratic as his heart struggled to beat what little blood was left in his body.

"Sir, Hawkeye hasn't got long, his heart is barely beating, he's gonna code soon-" She gasped, her hands shaking. 

"On their way, Natasha. I promise."

"I don't think he's going to make it." She whispered, her agony clear in his voice.

"They're on the roof, I'm sending them to your location." Phil said softly. "You're doing great, not long now."

That was when the agents walked into the room to find a frantic Black Widow, screaming over her partner as his heart shuddered to a stop.

Phil met her at the quinjet as the medics swarmed Clint, shouting vitals across to each other.

"Call a code, get the defib over here and get me some goddamn blood!"

Natasha could faintly hear gasping as she slid to her knees in the jet.

Phil was kneeling beside her then, not touching her.

Natasha's breathing was ragged, her chest heaving as she struggled to get air. 

"Natasha?" Phil's voice was laced with panic as he reached and took her hands. 

"Agent, breathe." He demanded, squeezing her hands.

Natasha heard him through the roaring of her ears and she shakily drew in a breath.

"That's it, Natasha, deep breaths. In and out." Phil murmured.

Her glazed eyes followed the sound of the defibrillator and what little composure she'd gotten back crumbled.

Her vision was beginning to blur as she struggled to get air.

"Natasha?!" Phil shouted, his hands sliding to her shoulders. 

There was a soft pinch in the side of her neck and she was slumping forward into Phil's arms, her supervising officer holding her firmly as his eyes found his fallen agent.

Later that day, Natasha came round. 

Instead of who was usually beside her when she woke, Phil was sitting there.

Blinking, Natasha pushed herself up, her limbs shaking.

"Phil?" Natasha's soft voice asked him, her tone sounding younger than her years. She was still just a kid, really, her and Clint.

"I'm sorry for sedating you." He said quietly. "You were about to pass out, I had to make a decision."

Had it been anyone else who had dared sedate her, she would've been angry. Furious even.

But she understood his reasoning and she simply nodded, rubbing at the ache in her temples.

"Clint..." She whispered, her big eyes finding his, unshed tears there, waiting to drop at his next words. 

"He's alive. You did it, Natasha. If you had been hurt too..." the implications were left unsaid.

Natasha exhaled shakily. "He is?" She whispered. 

"Yes. I wouldn't lie to you, Natasha, come on." He said softly. 

"I thought for sure....he was gone."

"I know. He...he almost was. You kept him alive until we got there, don't doubt what you did for him, Natasha."

"I need to see him. Can...can I see him?"

"Of course. You're going to be a little shaky from the sedative but yes, absolutely." He murmured. 

Natasha nodded and pushed back the blanket covering her.

When Phil next saw Natasha, he was unsurprised to find Natasha curled over Clint. Her cheek was pillowed on his thigh and his hand was encased with hers.

Phil watched from the doorway for a moment, leaning tiredly against the frame. Rules be damned, he decided, those two were made for each other.


	13. Flashback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Clint and Natasha are sent on a mission to Russia to find an ex agent of the Red Room, things don't go as planned.  
> Back at their safe house, Natasha has a vivid panic attack and is trapped in her head. Clint has to get her out if he wants to see his Natasha again.  
> Say 13 of prompt challenge!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, welcome to day 13!  
> Today is flashback, and trust me I know about this shit. The details are from what I know happen to me, and what people have told me I do and say. Warnings for mentions of rape, sexual assault, panic attacks, flashbacks obvs, self-harm thoughts and scratching oneself in the moment, and suicidal thoughts. A cookie for anyone who can tell me what book series I pulled the name Vasilisa Belikova from.  
> net ... net ... pozhaluysta, ya ne gotov – no…no…please, I’m not ready  
> Pozhaluysta ... Bol'no, bol'no, perestan'! –please…it hurts, it hurts, stop!  
> Mne negde v mire – I have no place in the world  
> Da ser- yes sir  
> FLASHBACK

Natasha couldn’t sleep.

Beside her on the small, single bed lay Clint, fast asleep with his arm dangling over the side of the bed.

They were in the middle of Russia, tucked away at one of the Shield safe houses. It had been a tough mission, with them being tasked to take down an old Red Room agent. Her name was Vasilisa Belikova and her and Natasha had crossed paths many times. Or rather, her and Natalia had.

She had gone back to her old name for the mission, and her expression had gone from fairly open to closed off and hard. This woman was expecting the infamous Black Widow, Natalia Romanova, murderous assassin.

She’d got that.

Clint had stayed back, watching their exchange from the roof, and his stomach had been tied up in all kinds of knots as he watched the Natasha he knew disappear before his very eyes.

She had spoken in fluent Russian, her accent chilling Clint to the core.

She had weaved a tale of being imprisoned by an American agency, held and tortured for years until eventually she had used her Widow charms and conned one of the agents into having sex with her and leaving her the key to the doors, under the promise of them running away together. She spoke about how much she had enjoyed slitting his throat and watching him bleed out, how his eyes had betrayed how much she had screwed him over.

She tipped her head back and laughed, the noise not like her usual heart-warming giggles. This was bitter and ever so slightly manic. He’d known then that the repercussions of this mission were not going to be good.

Natalia had sweet talked and manipulated the woman into giving them the location of her safe house, convincing her that they had to band together to take down those American agents who were coming for all ex- Red Room agents.

Only ex because, a year after leaving The Red Room, deep in the ranks of the KGB, she had returned to her previous home and burned the whole thing, and the people inside, down.

It wasn’t her finest work, she’d been brutal and world weary back then. She hadn’t given a thought to the girls they would surely be conditioning inside the buildings. She had only thought of setting them free.

It was alarmingly easy for her to bring that Natalia back, and she could feel her insides burn like she had swallowed battery acid.

She had left, under the guise of stopping a few agents she had on her trail, and said she would meet her the safe house.

She had met up with Clint, and they had walked the short distance to the house.

Shield had told them to kill the woman and the other two on the run with her, but Natasha had wanted to bring them in.

Clint had done it for her, and she would do it for these girls too.

But they hadn’t wanted to come. One had silently put the gun in her mouth and pulled the trigger and the other two had tried fighting their way out. They’d shot at Clint and Natasha and they had had to gun them down.

They hadn’t spoken on the way to their own safe house and the silence was suffocating. But Natasha couldn’t speak, not yet, not so soon and Clint had left her to it whilst he phoned Phil and organised their way out of Russia.

He’d sat with her on the bed, hand in hand until he had eventually fallen asleep.

Now, she sat with her back pressed the wall, her eyes shut and her hands tangled in her hair.

Her heart was already racing and she stood, starting to pace the small width of the room to try and get out her pent up feelings.

She did that for nearly two hours, her legs burning a little.

She’d just been starting to think she could maybe sleep when it hit her.

Natasha stumbled back with the force of the memory, back hitting the wall. 

She sank down, her memories coming faster until she was slowly sucked into the world inside her hand.

It was like it was happening all over again.

She could feel the hands touching her, pushing down the straps of her ballet leotard, spreading her legs…

A strangled yell escaped her lips and her nails found purchase in her arms as her green eyes stared ahead, seeing nothing but everything at the same time.

Clint startled at the yell and was off the bed with his gun in his hands in seconds.

When he saw Natasha, he dropped the gun and was across the room in a heartbeat.

He knew better than touch her, simply dropped to his knees and spoke her name.

She didn’t appear to hear as she pressed against the wall and spoke in broken Russian, interjected with soft gasps or whimpers.

“net ... net ... pozhaluysta, ya ne gotov-“ She whispered, rapidly shaking her head.

“Natasha?” Clint spoke calmly. “Can you hear me?”

“Pozhaluysta ... Bol'no, bol'no, perestan'!” She gasped, her breathing harsh and ragged.

Her nails were drawing blood now and Clint wanted to reach out but knew that would break her.

He’d have to wait it out, to keep talking to her and try and pull her out of her head.

“Mne negde v mire.” She whispered, starting to repeat that phrase over and over again. 

“Da, ser.” She murmured, nodding her head in answer to whatever her head was showing her.

Clint wasn’t fluent in Russian but he had picked up enough from his partner to understand most of what she was saying. It tore straight into his heart and he felt sick to his stomach.

Her flashbacks were usually this vivid but she seldom talked besides the odd ‘no’ and ‘yes, sir’ and this was so much worse.

“Natasha? I don’t know if you can hear me, but you’re safe, you’re not there anymore, I-“

He was cut off by the sounds of screaming. Natasha had one hand yanking at her hair, the other still drawing blood from her arm.

Her cries were desperate and terrified, and the sound chilled him right down to the bone. 

She’d been shot, blown up, stabbed, tortured and more yet he’d never heard her scream like this.

He backed up and pressed the call button, holding it to his ear.

“Barton?” Came the sleepy voice, “It’s two in the morning, what is it?”

“Phil, I don’t know what to do, I-“ 

“Clint?” The voice was far more awake now and he heard the sounds of Phil sitting up.

“It’s Natasha, she’s having a flashback and she-“

Screaming reached Phil’s ear and his heart lurched.

“She won’t wake up and she’s just staring at nothing, screaming and crying and scratching herself-“ Clint shuddered, watching the redhead snap her head back against the wall and let out a keening moan that was somehow even worse than the screaming. 

“I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to wait it out.” Phil cursed, rubbing his forehead. 

“Speak to her, if that doesn’t work, there’s sedatives in the med bag.”

“Phil, no, I can’t do that, there has to be something else, she’s trapped in her head.” He whispered, hand tugging his hair.

“I can only think…it’s not going to be pleasant but, try cold water. Don’t get too close but put cold water on her pressure points, on the back of her neck and try to get her to drink some.”

Clint didn’t ask how Phil had come up with that, just ran to the shitty bathroom and turned on the tap. He let the water get cold and shoved one of their water bottles under the stream.

With Phil on speakerphone, he positioned himself on the bed so if she attacked, he could leap out of the way.

He trickled the water onto the back of her neck and pulse points, talking loudly to her in English.

Something he had done had begun to pull her out of the flashback and Clint whispered a soft thank you before hanging up the phone.

“Natasha, you with me?” He asked softly.

The redhead slowly lifted her head and nodded, dazed and confused. “Y…yeah, what’s going on?”

“You’re safe, yeah? We’re in the safe house in Russia, you’re with me and you’re not there anymore.”

Natasha blinked and looked down at the blood trails on her arms. Her throat burned and she just knew she’d been screaming.

Shit.

“Clint-“ Her voice wobbled and instantly he was on his knees and pulling her to his chest. She cried a little, pressing into him, her whole body shuddering and wracked with tremors.

“I’ve got you, Natasha.” Clint said softly, carefully not to use any of the usual Russian nicknames he used.

“I’m sorry, I…I don’t even remember…” She shuddered, closing her eyes and pulling in another strangled breath.

“You’re okay, now.” Clint said quietly, touching her back and cupping her cheek with his fingers.

“Do you want me to stop touching you?” Clint asked quietly, to which Natasha shook her head no and burrowed closer to him.

“Alright.” He hummed. “Let’s at least get onto the bed, hmm?”

Natasha nodded again and Clint wordlessly scooped her up off the floor and onto the bed. 

Under the thin blanket, she still shook against his chest. He began to hum softly, rocking her without even realising.

“Try to sleep, Natasha.” He breathed as he watched her eyelids flutter.

“I’ve got you, I’m not going anywhere.” He whispered.

Natasha may not have remembered the flashback by the next morning, but she did remember Clint softly singing to her as she fell asleep in his arms.

I could drag you from the ocean  
I could pull you from the fire  
And when you're standing in the shadows  
I could open up the sky  
And I could give you my devotion  
Until the end of time  
And you will never be forgotten  
With me by your side

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS the song Clint sings is called Somebody To Die For by Hurts and is the most perfect Clintasha song ever.


	14. Brainwash part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Whilst in that state, she would be convinced that she was back at The Red Room, that she was an agent and assassin made to do their bidding. It also meant she reverted back to her brutal, sometimes barbaric ways. '  
> Natasha relapses into her Red Room conditioning, leading to a fight between her and other agents, including Clint. Will she stop before she kills anyone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Welcome to day 14! TW for violence, mentions of childhood abuse and sexual abuse because it’s the Red Room. Also panic attacks, flashbacks etc  
> BRAINWASH

Both Clint and Natasha had been brainwashed before. And whilst Natasha’s was further in her past, she had a lot more difficulty with it than Clint did. Whilst they both got nightmares, panic attacks and flashbacks to the pain they had brought whilst brain washed, Clint’s had been through magical means instead of conditioning. Meaning that, although deeply troubling, Clint would never lapse back to that state, unless Loki decided to come back to Earth.

But Natasha was different, her flashbacks were painful and intense and sometimes, very rare though those times were, she would lapse back into that conditioned state.  
The triggers could be small, like a tall dark haired man passing her on the street.

Whilst in that state, she would be convinced that she was back at The Red Room, that she was an agent and assassin made to do their bidding. It also meant she reverted back to her brutal, sometimes barbaric ways. 

Most of the times, Natasha had been able to lock herself in a safe room and contact either Phil or Clint to come get her when it was over. It always ended with Natasha bloody and broken, her hands ripped to shreds as she tried to escape the room.

This time though, her and Clint had been sparring in the Shield rec room, when out of nowhere she had frozen.

Clint had stumbled into her and backed up, frowning and instantly on edge.

“Natasha?” He asked softly, seeing the moment her gaze snapped up. Her eyes were full of rage and she growled as she launched herself at him.

“My name is Natalia, and I am here to kill you.”

Her movements were flawless, conditioned into her for years and years, all the grace of the ballet dancer she’d once been. But her body was packed with strength as she threw him up against the wall.

He briefly saw stars before her hands were around his neck, forcing him to his knees as she squeezed the air from his lungs.

Clint struggled, his nails drawing blood as they dug into her skin. But Natasha had always been slightly better at hand to hand than him, and her body was hocked up on rage and adrenaline, whereas he was slightly tired from hours of sparring.

His ears roaring as she squeezed her hands around his throat tightened, he managed to briefly throw her off balance and slam his hand into the panic button on the wall before she was on him again. 

The sirens blared around the rec hall and the shutters began coming down on the windows and doors.

He had locked her and him in the room, but unfortunately, they hadn’t been the only agents in there and there were three sets of eyes on him.

One of the men stepped forward, a gun in hand. “Barton?!” He growled, taking another step forward.

Clint managed to throw his hand out to stop the man, ducking a furious blow from Natasha. “It’s not her fault, don’t shoot her!” He exclaimed, dropping to his knees and rolling forward as her fist came towards him.

“Find the med bag, sedate her!” Clint shouted, catching a blow to his shoulder. With a grunt, he grabbed one of the batons they’d been using to spar with, and cracked it behind her knees.

With a furious yell, she stumbled.

Clint hit her again, the baton smacking into her shoulder.

If anything, it just made Natasha angrier as she whipped the baton from his hands and slammed it down over his head.

Clint grunted, his vision swimming and blood in his throat. When the next blow came, he slumped and saw nothing.

She then turned to the other three agents in the room.

Agent Hill was the one woman and she was rummaging in a bag and came up with a needle in her hand, they made a decision silently and the two men advanced towards her whilst Maria walked around the back to try and get the drop on her.

Natasha rained down on them, not needing the baton as she tossed some of Shield’s best agents around like toys.

She threw one man into the wall, not watching as he crumpled as she turned to the next fight.

He was at least six seven, built like Captain America and deadly in his own right. 

A grin pulled back on her face, teeth shining as she let out a yell and ran towards him. 

Natasha grabbed his wrist and twisted, hearing a snap. The man didn’t show any signs of pain as he fought with all the weight of a small truck. 

Each blow he landed seem to do little to no damage to her, and each one she landed sent another wave of pain through his body.

Natasha grinned and let out a throaty chuckle before she rolled under him and grabbed his head, standing fluidly. She smacked it hard against the wall and when he managed to still stand, she jumped. Her legs wound around his neck, her thighs squeezing down around his throat.

He struggled under her as his knees gave way and he finally fell, his face turning bright red before he stilled under her body.

Almost purring, Natasha turned to the last person standing. 

Hill stepped forward, her hands up in surrender, the needle hidden in the waistband of her training pants.

“Natalia.” The woman spoke. “You’ve done very well here, but it’s time to stand down.” Hill said cautiously. “You’ve taken them all out, it’s time for debrief.” 

Natasha halted, her head tilting to the side.

“I do not know you.” Natasha frowned. 

“Yes you do. You’re still foggy from your last memory wipe, but I own you, Natalia, don’t you dare forget that.”

Natasha blinked rapidly, stepping forward. 

“No…” The redhead whispered, but her confusion had been what the agent wanted.

With an efficiency to rival even Natasha herself, Maria slid the needle into the side of her neck and depressed the plunger.

Natasha growled and pulled herself back, her eyes clearing just as she dropped to the floor.

When she next came around, she was herself. She was also drugged up to the eyeballs, and had restraints around her wrists, ankles and waist.

She glanced over to the side, confused to find herself alone. Usually Clint or Phil would be there, but instead there was just Agent Hill in the doorway.

“You look like crap.” Natasha murmured, struggling through the fog to try and understand what happened.

“So do you.” Maria quipped, slowly walking towards her and pulling out the plastic chair.

“What happened? Why am I tied up? Clint always stops them.” She frowned, giving a slight tug on the leather.

“You don’t remember.” Hill exhaled slowly at Natasha’s blank look.

“You…regressed, I guess the word is. You attacked Barton, myself and two others.” She said hesitantly.

“I…shit.” Natasha cursed, pushing her head back against the bed.

“How many did I kill?” She whispered. “Is Clint dead? Did I kill him?” She hissed, anguish all over her features.

“No one.” Hill said quietly. “You didn’t kill anyone. You…knocked Barton out, threw Agent Kenzie into a wall and knocked him out. You choked Agent Lewis out. I sedated you.” She shrugged.

“I…no one died?” She whispered, suddenly seeming oh so vulnerable compared to the furious force she’d been fighting hours earlier.

“Say what you will, Natasha, but I think some part of you knew it wasn’t real. I’ve seen you kill, up close and personal. But I’ve also seen you incapacitate others. You know the difference down to a tee. Barton was knocked out, yes, but he will be fine. You took out Agent Kenzie, threw him head first so he wouldn’t snap his neck. You choked out Agent Lewis enough to render him unconscious, not enough to stop his breathing.” 

“I…you’re saying I had some control?” Natasha asked, incredulous. 

“I’m saying I think subconsciously, you knew you weren’t really there.” Maria said gently.

“How did you manage to sedate me?” She asked quietly, the anguish still clear in her eyes.

“I…pretending to be your higher up. I confused you enough to get you to drop your guard a little.” Maria shrugged.

“Clever. I would’ve thrown you around like a toy otherwise. Quick thinking.” She murmured, looking exhausted.

“Yeah.” The unspoken thank you hung in the air.

“I’ll get someone to take these cuffs off. You can head down to your room if you want, or see Barton. But Natasha…you are going to be taken off duty for a while, you’ll be seeing the therapist every day, and I promise you, we will get that shit out of your head.” Maria said softly, but still firm.

“Thank you, Maria.” Natasha whispered, looking up to meet her gaze.

“Of course, Romanoff.”


	15. Brainwash part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Whilst in that state, she would be convinced that she was back at The Red Room, that she was an agent and assassin made to do their bidding. It also meant she reverted back to her brutal, sometimes barbaric ways. ' Natasha relapses into her Red Room conditioning, leading to a fight between her and other agents, including Clint. Will she stop before she kills anyone?  
> Part two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, enjoy part two, I’d appreciate some comment if anyone is actually reading. Thanks!  
> Slight tw for unconsciously picking skin, could be counted as self-harm so just fyi.  
> BRAINWASH PART 2

Once Maria had gotten clearance to take the restraints off Natasha, they first headed down to the computer room.

Natasha wanted to see what she'd done before she could even think about facing Clint.

Maria cleared the room of personnel and loaded up the footage from earlier.

She stayed behind Natasha, non-threatening and almost comforting as the redhead watched the screen play.

She stayed quiet, teeth gritted and her hand covering her mouth as she watched the woman, no, she watched herself, stalk across the room.

She had tossed her friends around without a second thought, and as Clint crumpled under the baton in her hand, she wished she could look away.

She owed it to her friends to see it through though. 

She watched as the man struggled under her thighs, her lips pulled back in an animalistic grin.

"Fucking hell." Natasha hissed, shaking her head and rubbing at the beginnings of a killer migraine in her forehead.

"You're wrong, Maria, there was no me left in there. Look at them, they didn't stand a chance." She ground out.

Hill frowned and tapped the space bar to pause the recording. 

"I don't believe that." She began quietly. "You snap necks like it's your job, and technically it kinda is. This was...incapacitating them. This wasn't killing."

Natasha just shook her head, rolling her shoulders. "It's hard to recognise that as me. I haven't...been that way in a very long time. Even when I'm on mission, I'm never...what's the word? Brutal? Animal?" She sighed. 

"I'm always deadly, yes, but this was...it was something else. There's something in my head and, Maria, there is something very wrong with me." She breathed.

Hill frowned and sat down on the desk, facing her. "Natasha, what they did to you...That's not who you are. That's what they made you but you're right, you are different now. You're struggling with the conditioning, I understand that, but I promised you earlier that we would get that shit out of your head. If I have anything to do with it, that will never happen again." She said firmly. 

Natasha blinked in shock, taking a deep breath. It wasn't that they weren't friends, they definitely were, it was that when they hung out, they rarely ever got into the deep stuff. 

One night, they'd both been drunk as fuck after a rare night out. Natasha had divulged a little then. How some days she felt closer to Natalia Romanova than Natasha, how some nights she wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about the things she had done back then, the pain she had caused and the death she had wrought.

Hill, drunk and drowsy, hadn’t realised the gravity of what she was saying and had changed the subject. Now, she wished she hadn’t been quite as drunk and had spoken to her more.

“I can’t thank you enough for taking me down in there.” Natasha said quietly, slowly lifting her head.

“I have no idea what would have happened, or if I would’ve ended up deeper in it and killed you all.” She murmured, her face pale as she pressed the play button and watched the rest of the footage.

“God, you even pulled my name out.” Natasha murmured, brow raising.

“Yeah, sorry about that. I was trying to disorientate you.” Maria sighed.

“No, don’t apologise, please.” She murmured. “It worked. I’m gonna have to tell Clint that. Though, he would hate having to pretend to be one of them.”

Maria shrugged. “It wasn’t pleasant but yeah, it worked.”

Natasha nodded, tiredly realising she really did need to go see Clint.

“Thanks, Maria.” She said softly, honestly.

“Of course.” She smiled, reaching forward and squeezing her shoulder. “I’m going to be running point on everything until Coulson gets back from Bahrain with May. I’ll be meeting you before and after therapy, and if needed will be your escort to desensitization.”

“I appreciate that.” Natasha nodded her head. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, Maria.”

With that, the redhead left the room and headed down to the med centre. 

She stopped on the way at the canteen, trying to ignore all the eyes on her as she grabbed some jello and pudding for Clint. As she paid, someone tapped her on the shoulder and she recoiled, swinging around to glare at them.

“I heard you nearly killed your partner,” The man said, and Natasha realised she really didn’t recognise him. He had to have been new, and the agents sat behind him had grins on their faces. Obviously showing off for them, the agent jabbed a finger at her chest.

“You really think Shield are gonna let a loose cannon like you leave now? You’re a danger to everyone, Black Widow, you’re gonna be screaming down in psych soon and you’re never gonna leave.” He spat, grinning.

Natasha swallowed and desperately tried to push down her anger. She could tell he was spoiling for a fight, he wanted to prove himself by taking down the infamous Black Widow.

Natasha did something she rarely ever did; she walked away.

She had just enough presence of mind to grab the two cups before fleeing the canteen.

She felt the annoying, embarrassing tell-tale tickling of tears behind her eyelids and she calmly brushed her cheeks off and pushed it down as she stalked through the doors.

They admin staff had obviously been told to expect her, bless Hill, and they let her through without fuss.

She walked into his room, swallowing hard.

Clint had dark bruises covering his throat and she looked down at her hands, all evidence of her squeezing the life out of him gone from her fingers.

He seemed comfortable enough, though she could see stitches working their way through his hair.

She slowly walked towards him, afraid to reach out and touch him.

She placed the cups on the cabinet and tried to decide if she should just leave when suddenly he was grabbing her wrist gently.

“Hey, Tash.” He said softly, an easy smile on his face.

Suddenly furious at his tone, she ripped her hand away. 

“How?” She demanded, shaking her head. “How can you sit there and grin at me after what I did to you?!”

Clint sat up, his smile dropping as his fingers nervously darted across the blanket.

“’Cause it wasn’t you.” He shrugged. “You wouldn’t hurt me, Tash, it wasn’t you.” He bit his lip as he tried to catch her gaze.

“I nearly killed you, how is that not hurting you?” She asked, incredulous.

“You weren’t in control, Natasha.” He frowned, trying again to reach for her hand. “I know that, I know you.”

“Clearly not well enough, because you’re in here, in medical because I choked you and knocked you unconscious.” She growled, her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

“I’m alright, Tasha. It’s nothing I haven’t had before, I’ve had worse sparring with others.”

“Bullshit.” She growled. “They don’t lose control enough to hurt you like this.”

“Natasha, look, I ain’t gonna bullshit you. You hurt me, yeah, but you didn’t kill me and you weren’t you.” He reiterated, finally catching her fingers from where they were absently picking at a scab on her arm.

“I saw your eyes, how you spoke. You were…her, you were Natalia, not Natasha. Don’t confuse them. I know it’s sometimes hard to distinguish but…but basically, you weren’t you.” Sometimes he wasn’t the best with words and he often stuck to one train of thought.

Natasha’s legs were shaking and she sank down into the seat as her eyelids burned and her throat ached as she pushed back tears yet again.

“She nearly killed you.” She whispered.

Clint’s face softened. “She did. You did not. I can promise you, Natasha, I trust you to never hurt me.”

Natasha gave a soft sniffle. “How?”

His lips quirked back into a little smile. “Because you’re my best friend, my partner and you’ve never hurt me before. Even when I came to kill you.”

“Didn’t hurt you? I broke your nose?” her face screwed up a little.

“Well, yeah, but it barely hurt. And back then, you were still…Natalia more often. But when I came for you, and you dropped to your knees and refused to hurt me, that was you.”

“How can you even look at me?” She whispered, hate for herself clawing at her insides.

“Because you’re beautiful.” Clint teased, touching her jaw. “And I love you.” He shrugged. “It’s really that simple.”

“I watched the footage-“

“Nat, why? Don’t do that to yourself. Remember after Loki, you caught me watching the tapes of what I’d done over and over. It only made me feel worse and you literally burned all the hard copies of the tapes for me. It doesn’t help, Natasha, re-watching what they did.” He whispered.

“I’m sorry.” Natasha sighed softly. “Sometimes it’s hard to remember that you’ve been there before and you understand.” 

“You know that I do.” He echoed her words from the hellicarrier after he’d woken from her ‘mental recalibration’. 

Natasha sniffled again, alerting Clint to the fact that she probably hadn’t let herself cry yet.

“C’m’ere, Tash.” He murmured, pulling back the blanket and waiting for her to climb in. 

She did so, a long sigh escaping her lips as she sank into the bed. Every inch of her hurt.

She closed her eyes and felt Clint slid his hand down her back, rubbing up and down. She hummed softly. “That’s good.” She hummed and Clint grinned at her. 

“I know, who’s the kitten now huh?” 

Natasha silently scratched under his jaw, watching his head tip back and a shaky exhale leave his lips. 

“Still you, Barton, always you.”


	16. Starvation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha has been missing for nine weeks, when Clint manages to track her down. They find her unconscious, nearly starved to death, her organs failing.  
> Will they get her to a hospital in time?  
> Day 15 of prompt challenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, welcome to day 15! Tw for starvation, duh that’s the title, and just kinds everything that goes with that.  
> STARVATION

It had taken nine, long, gruelling weeks to find Natasha.

She had gone missing on one of her first solo missions in years, and it had taken them that long to question and get answers out of anyone they thought could be involved.

Eventually, they had gotten a whereabouts and Clint, Coulson, Hill and a whole hellicarrier full of other agents were on their way to the location. Even Melinda May had been pulled off desk duty for this one mission.

They had no idea what they find, if the compound would be swarming in agents or if they would be faced with one, crazed individual. They had no idea if Natasha was even alive, because it had been such a long time.

The higher ups didn’t usually agree to rescue missions for one agent, but Clint and Phil had demanded they agree or they would go alone. Fury had immediately been on board, and had forgone the meetings and bullshit and sent them straight there.

Now, walking into the building, Clint could feel the stirrings of fear he’d pushed down for months. It was highly unlikely that she was still alive, or that there would be enough of her to bring back.

He didn’t care, he would fine her and he would bring her home, whether that was on a stretcher or in a body bag.

She would be coming home.

They found the compound nearly empty, just a couple of guards on look out. It was clear they hadn’t been expecting anyone to come for her.

As they were dispatched, Hill and May attacked the computer system, getting every single piece of information, encrypted or not, onto hard drives.

Coulson, Clint and a few others searched the place for Natasha.

They found her in the second to last room, one man standing beside her. He grinned at them as they entered, swivelling around. “She said you would come. I didn’t believe it but it is good to see you. You can admire my work now, you can see my experiments and the effects they’ve had on her before she dies.” His eyes lit up. “And she hasn’t got long left.” He tutted, pointing to where a machine was attached to her, her vitals on screen.

Her oxygen was plummeting below fifty, her blood pressure almost none existent as her fast and erratic pulse filled the room. 

Clint stepped forward and silently drew his gun up, firing twice into the man, uncaring as he collapsed to the ground and coughed around the blood filling his lungs.

He rushed over to Natasha, Phil at his side as he crashed to his knees next to her.

There was a thin blanket covering her and he pulled it back to get a better look at her injuries.

What he found, had his vision swimming and bile rising in his throat.

She was unconscious, but not peacefully so by any means. Her brows were furrowed and her hands lay on her stomach.

She was so thin, skeletal. Each bone looked ready to pop from her skin as his eyes trailed down her body. Her ribs were pressing against her skin, dark bruises there just from the pressure. 

Her hair was dry as he pushed it from her forehead in an attempt to rouse her.

Her cheekbones were prominent, her cheeks sunken in where they were usually round. Dark bruises lay under her eyes and over most of her skin.

He gently took her hand from her stomach, swollen and bloated under her fingertips. He pressed his fingers to her pulse point, not trusting the machine.

“Her heart is struggling, I don’t know if she’ll make it to Shield.” He exhaled, glancing over at Coulson.

“I’ll contact the nearest Shield hospital and tell them to expect us.” He swallowed hard and dragged his gaze from his agents form.

Clint spent the next thirty seconds trying to wake her, gently rolling onto her side as her breathing visibly worsened. 

As he touched the bottom of her back, she whimpered lowly and he realised the skin there was warm, whilst the rest of her was verging on hypothermia. 

He jerked his hand away, taking in each visible vertebra down her spine. “Her kidneys, I think, are failing.” He said quietly, abnormally calm. He knew later he would break down completely but now, he had to get her to a hospital.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered as he pulled the wires from where they stuck against the sharp slope of her collarbones and trying to miss the bottom of her back, he lifted her to his chest.

Her head lolled with her, a soft gurgling sound emitting from her throat. Her lips were cracked and bleeding, a startling shade of blue. As he tucked her arms against her body, he noticed the tips of her fingers were purple.

Coulson radioed to the hospital and they met the two women in the hallways.

Melinda swore and covered her mouth; Hill looked like she was going to throw up to, her face stricken.

“Is she…?”

“She’s alive, barely; we need to get to the hospital. May, can you get us there fast?” Clint asked, watching as the woman nodded. 

They were instantly moving to the quinjet, Natasha’s breathing getting worse and worse with each step.  
They had medics waiting but this was beyond what they could treat.

They attached monitors, reading her vitals and swathing her in blankets. It took five minutes for them to find a vein to insert an IV into, and glucose and saline began pumping into her veins. All they could do was wait for them touch down, and keep monitoring her.

Ten minutes into the flight, the machine to Clint’s left began screeching and he stumbled back, eyes wide as he took in the sight of the flat line sounding throughout the jet.

“No-“ He gasped, finding Phil’s hand and squeezing hard. 

Maria stepped towards them, looking unsure. Clint silently took her hand too and they stood, the three of them in a line, watching as they compressed her chest and sent shocks through her body.

“Please, Natasha, please don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.” Clint whispered, squeezing his friends hands so tightly he cut off the blood for a moment.

They didn’t care, all three of them stricken and downright terrified.

“Please, Tasha, please. You can’t leave me, you can’t-“ He choked, shaking his head. 

The heart monitor slowly began to settle, her pulse still dangerously low and erratic, but her heart was beating nonetheless. 

Feeling dizzy, Clint sank down to his knees, hastily scrubbing his eyes with his hands. 

Later, he told himself, later you can cry.

The journey was agonising for all involved, Natasha’s heart stopping twice more before they touched down, having made record time thanks to Melinda’s skilled flying.

She was rushed away from them and the three agents found themselves slumped over in the waiting room. They sat close together, not touching, but taking comfort from one another.

One hour turned to two, turned to four until finally a doctor came out to speak to them.

His tone was grave and it sent Clint’s heart racing. “Is she…?” He gasped out.

“She’s alive.” The doctor started carefully. “But…it’s really not clear whether she’s going to pull through.”

Clint could feel his world crashing around him.

“What do you mean?” Phil snapped, his hand on Clint’s wrist.

“I mean…she coded three times whilst we tried to stabilise her. Her kidneys have shut down and her liver is well on its way. Her heart is struggling quite drastically, and she isn’t breathing on her own. We intubated and started dialysis for her kidneys, because of the breathing tube; we had to insert a feeding tube straight through her stomach. She’s got constant glucose and nutrients being pumped into her, and she’s hypothermic. The circulation to her hands and feet was cut off for a while, and we had to remove two of her toes and some of a finger. The circulation is improving, but that’s not what I’m worried about. Her heart has been under such immense stress, that we had to…we had to put in a temporary pacemaker, just to try and control the beats. She’s been put into an induced coma, and I’m sorry, but there’s no way of knowing if she’ll ever wake up.” 

Clint could feel his legs give way and he crashed to his knees, his breathing ragged and tears on his cheeks.

Coulson thanked the doctor and ushered him away, both him and Maria silently lifting Clint up and dragging him over to a chair. 

Maria ordered someone to get them some water, as she settled in between his knees on the floor. Coulson sat beside him, placing Clint’s hand against his chest.

“Breathe, Barton.” He commanded, his free hand rubbing against his sternum. 

“Deep breaths, in and out.” He murmured as Maria trickled water onto the sleeve of her sleeve and touched the back of his neck and pulse points with it.

Slowly, Clint regained control of his breathing and lifted his head, his voice hoarse when he spoke.

“I can’t lose her. I don’t care what Shield says, I don’t care how unhealthy it is, I can’t lose her.” He whispered. “I love her, Phil, I love her so fucking much.”

Coulson nodded, his hand on the back of his neck. “I know, Clint, I know. I wish I could say it was going to be okay, but I can’t.”

“I need to see her. If…if she dies, I have to be there.” He murmured, pushing himself to his feet.

“Of course.” Maria murmured, touching his jaw. “Go sit with her, we’ll be right out here.”  
…  
Days passed, turning into weeks. Clint was a constant at Natasha’s side, Phil and Maria often with him.

The doctor’s words turned from grave to hopefully as her vitals got better, and her body stronger.

They were able to take the breathing tube out, just oxygen up her nose now. They had begun to taper the drugs away, and it seemed likely that she would wake up soon.  
That was how, two weeks after Clint had found her almost starved to death, she woke with him at her side.

The next few months would be brutal. From taking out the feeding tube and giving her liquid food, moving onto solids later on. From the agonising pain of being starved and her organs shutting down, to having the pacemaker removed and their tentative steps to rehabilitate her. Physical therapy, psych trips. The fear when she would throw up whatever she’d eaten, the panic of having a new feeding tube shoved through her nose and down her throat until she was ready to eat again. Dialysis when her kidneys showed signs of shutting down again, the pain of anyone touching her skin. The realisation she had had some extremities amputated. The mental anguish of her limitations, nightmares and flashbacks of slowly being starved to death.

It was going to be a long, painful road but Clint would be by her side the entire time, Phil and Maria a constant beside them.

Clint would revel in being able to tell her he loved her, and the joy of hearing those words back.

They would make it through this.

They always did.


	17. Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Grief: intense sorrow, especially caused by someone's death.'  
> When the battle of New York has been won, Natasha takes Clint aside to tell him that Coulson is dead.  
> Day 16 of prompt challenge. I'm rubbish at summaries lmao just trust me and read it. Lots of feels.
> 
> For the sake of this fic, Natasha was at the table with Tony and Steve during the card scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Guess who's rewatching Avengers Assemble??? Me! So I finally decided now was the perfect time to get this chapter out. This is set straight after the battle of New York.
> 
> Grief: intense sorrow, especially caused by someone's death.  
> GRIEF

Natasha watched as Fury spread Phil's cards over the table, her face blank as she hid the agony inside her.

She reached for them, desperately wanting them. Her fingers came away sticky with blood and she dropped them like they'd burned her. 

She shoved her chair back and stalked out of the room, losing her cool for a moment and slamming her fist into the nearest wall.

Fuck it all.

Fury had lied; she knew the cards had never been in his pocket. He had used them to get the attention of the others, and she understood. That didn't mean she liked it. The urge to keep everything Coulson had held dear for herself was a selfish notion, but one she couldn't shake. 

In the last few days, she'd heard two phrases she had never thought she would hear.

"Barton's been compromised."

"They called it."

The footage of Loki stabbing through Phil's chest was engraved in her brain. She saw it every time she closed her eyelids.

She didn't have time to mourn, to be sad. She had to focus on getting Clint back and stopping Loki.

Later, she knew she would break down. She only hoped Clint would be back at her side.

When the battle was won, Natasha followed her new companions to the shawarma place. She wasn't hungry but she knew Clint hadn't eaten in days. Loki hadn't cared about their wellbeing, only that they were under his control.

If she didn't go, Clint wouldn't eat either. So she went with them. They'd all somehow managed to avoid serious injury but Natasha and Clint weren't super individuals and had no armour to protect them. 

She hurt all over and her ribs screamed in protest. 

When they sat down, she silently pulled Clint's foot up onto her chair. She'd noticed him limping and didn't want him to injure himself further. 

They barely spoke, all exhausted and crashing from adrenaline.

When they finished, Stark tipped the owners handsomely and they were on their way.

"Come back to the tower." Tony murmured, looking around them. 

"Maybe later." Natasha shook her head, holding Clint's arm. 

They'd never been very pda, they hid their relationship well but she was so glad he'd come back to her, and he was hurt so she had no qualms about holding onto him.

"We need to get back to Shield. We have things to do."

Bruce nodded, "What about-"

Natasha glared at him, jerking her head.

He understood, thank God, and just nodded.

Clint frowned at the little interaction but shrugged. "Yeah I've got a very important meeting down at psych." He offered a small smile.  
They bid their farewells but instead of getting into the Shield issue car waiting for them, Natasha pulled him inside the nearest building. 

It was a little store and was damaged but still standing. 

"Tash, what're you doing? We can't avoid it. I can't avoid it." Clint sighed.

"Is Phil meeting us here? I thought we would've seen him by now but I guess he's busy. If I'm gonna spending weeks down in psych, I need to see him."

Natasha swallowed, struggling to find her words. Her chest ached and her throat burned as she held back the tears threatening to fall. 

"Clint..." She started, voice ragged. 

"What? What is it?" His eyes widened at the sight of her clearly trying not to cry. 

"Where is he, Natasha? Is he hurt? Tell me." 

"He's dead." She whispered, reaching out and grabbing his hand. 

"Phil's dead, Clint." She shook her head, a few stray tears escaping down her cheeks. 

"What?" He growled, pulling his hand away and taking a step back. "What the hell are you talking about, Natasha, he's not dead! He's not!" 

"He fell before the battle began." She ground out, not moving to touch him. 

"Did I kill him?" He whispered, anguish in his voice.

"Natasha, did I kill him?!" He shouted, hands balled into fists. 

"No. No, Loki...Loki stabbed him. Through the heart. He was gone before the medics got there." She whispered, her big eyes full of unshed tears. 

Clint's legs gave out beneath him and he stumbled to the floor, his breathing ragged. 

"No." He whispered, slamming his hand into the ground. 

"NO!" He roared, slamming his hand down again. 

Natasha crossed the short distance and knelt beside him, grabbing his hand to stop him injuring himself more. 

"It's not true. He barely goes out in the field. This isn't true. Natasha, tell me it's not true."

He was like a child in that moment, not wanting to believe the truth and desperately trying to get her to agree with him. 

"I'm...I'm so fucking sorry, Clint." She whispered, biting hard into her lower lip. 

Clint's chest rumbled and the next moment, he was screaming. 

Howling, strangled sobs intermitting the deep, pained screams. 

When his voice was hoarse, he reached for her and she pulled him to her chest. 

"No." He whispered, repeating the one word over and over again.

Natasha held him tightly, rocking slightly on her heels. 

"I know. I know, Clint, I know." She whispered against his hair, pulling his chin up to face her. 

His cheeks were covered in tears and his nose was running all over his lips. She didn't care, watching the water tracks running through the layer of grime covering his skin. 

She kissed him, more teeth than anything, kissing him like her life depended on it. Like she was dying and this was the only way to save her.

He kissed her with the same vigour, the taste of salt on both their lips. 

When they pulled apart, he sank back into her warm embrace, shuddering like a sick child. 

"We need to get to Shield, but we have a few more minutes." She murmured lowly, squeezing her eyes shut and pushing back the tears yet again. 

They sat in silence for the next five minutes, Clint’s breathing harsh as his tears dripping into the dust around them. 

She knew his pain. Knew it was felt like he'd been stabbed too. Like his heart would break and like he wasn't even sure he wanted it to continue beating. 

The agony clawing through his veins as he tried to wrap his head around it. 

They'd been surrounded by death since they were children. Had wrought so much of it and been on the brink many times themselves. They'd known agents, good friends, not come back from missions. 

But Phil...He was always a constant. He was their handler and as such, rarely went on missions other than to guide them. 

They'd never considered a life without him, never thought he would ever be in this position. They'd joked, how when Phil was older he would still be handling them. Pulling them out of shit, even when he was old and gray. 

He was gone. 

"He was the first person to see my potential, my real potential. Not cheap tricks at the circus. When he found be, when he brought me into Shield..." Clint choked and Natasha hummed, nodding against his hair. 

Clint had been that for her. Her saviour coming out of the shadows. Her guardian angel. 

Phil had been next, working his ass off to get her what he thought she deserved. To integrate her into Shield. To be her guide. 

She held him tighter, neither caring that her fingers would leave bruises. 

Phil was gone, but Clint was alive. He'd come back to her. Phil's absence was...heart breaking. It tore into her until she was sure she wouldn't be able to carry on. 

Clint looked up at her, touching her cheek. 

"I don't know what to do without him." Clint murmured, finally having gotten his breathing under control.

"We live." She whispered, still not sure how they would be able to but knowing they had to. Phil would want that. He would order that. 

"He never got to go to Portland." He whispered. "Never got to visit her." 

"He said her music was sublime." She murmured, still rocking him. 

"We'll play that at his funeral." Clint said, his voice hollow. 

"Yeah we will." She agreed, swallowing and closing her eyes. 

"How do we live, Natasha?" He asked brokenly, meeting her gaze. 

"I don't know." She said honestly. "We just do." 

"We just live." Clint murmured. 

Natasha hummed softly. 

"We just live." 

...

Five years later, across a bloodied battlefield, Clint and Natasha would see him again. 

They would think they were dead or had finally lost it, but he would walk towards them, tie at his neck and suit looking untouched by the death around them.

They would collapse to their knees, holding hands as he walked towards them. 

He would come beside them, would pull them into his arms and whisper. 

"It's time to come home."


	18. Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint comes home from a mission sick and with a fever. Natasha obviously comes and looks after him. Mainly fluff with some hurt/comfort. Day 17 of prompt challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Welcome to day 17.  
> Kotyonok- kitten  
> I give you
> 
> FEVER

Clint groaned softly, yanking the covers back and kicking them onto the floor. 

He'd been tossing and turning for the better part of three hours, exhausted in body and mind but unable to get to sleep.

He'd come back from a solo mission, relatively unscathed but just plain tired. He'd figured he'd gotten sick walking through the towns market and was just generally run down.

Natasha had been sent on a solo mission at the same time as him and hadn't returned yet. His phone sat next to him, as he waited anxiously for any news.

Coulson was swamped with work, and he had no one else to go to.

He must have drifted off because when he woke, there was a cold hand on his forehead. 

Without opening his eyes, he knew immediately who it was and he exhaled, some of the tension he'd been holding melting away.

"Natasha." He breathed, letting his eyelids flutter open. 

"Hey." She said softly, brushing back the sticky strands of his hair. 

"Do you want me to help you down to medical?" She murmured.

"No, hell no." He groaned, struggling into a sitting position. "I'm alright, just got a cold or something', not a big deal."

Natasha pursed her lips but nodded. 

"Alright. But you're burning up, let me get a wet cloth and some meds into you." She hummed, still stroking his hair. 

"Mm, I'm completely fine with you playing nurse." He smiled weakly.

Natasha rolled her eyes and shook her head. "I am not your nurse." She said fondly.

He just grinned lazily at her. "Sure, Tash."

"Hush. Or I will drag you to medical and let them deal with you."

"You wouldn’t dare." 

"Try me, Hawk." She quipped.

"Stay there, I'll be right back." She pushed him back down, righting his pillows and laying him back.

She went into the bathroom and pottered around the cupboards before coming over. 

"Natasha, angel, you are a lifesaver." He grinned.

"I know." She shrugged, laying to cold cloth over his forehead and showing him the rest she'd brought. 

"How was the mission?" Clint murmured. 

"Boring. Mainly recon. Didn't even get into a fight." She rolled her eyes.

"Boring without me, you mean." Clint grinned.

"Whatever makes you sleep at night, Clint." She hummed good naturedly.

She sat him up a little to pop some pills in his mouth, pressing the water cup to his mouth for him to drink.

"It's best if you try and get some more sleep. Then we'll get you some food if you can manage it. Have you been sick?"

"A couple of hours ago, I feel queasy but I don't think I'll throw up again." He grimaced. 

"I'll bring a bowl in case." She hummed. "Sleep now, kotyonok."

He did just that, sinking into the pillows and closing his eyes.

He woke to find a worried Natasha hovering over him. His throat ached and his stomach roiled. 

Grimacing, he jerked up and stumbled off the bed and to the bathroom. He sank to his knees in front of the toilet. 

Retching violently, he clutched his stomach, groaning softly as he threw up the meds and water Natasha had gotten into him.

When he felt a little better, he sank bonelessly into Natasha's waiting arms. 

"Sorry." He murmured.

"Don't be. At least it's not like Budapest. You threw up all over me." She chuckled, rubbing his back. 

"You're a saint, Romanoff." He murmured. 

"Tell me about it." She smiled, pressing a kiss to his sweaty forehead. She winced and pulled away, her smile dropping.

"You're a lot warmer." She murmured. "Does your throat hurt?"

"A little. Did I have a nightmare?"

She nodded. "I woke you up from one." She paused. "I think I should take you to medical."

He shook his head. "For the stomach flu? Nah. I'll have a bath and it'll sort itself out. You don't have to stay."

"Don't be ridiculous, Clint. I'll run the bath." She said sweetly.

She turned to place him against the wall and ran the bath. She stuck her fingers under the tap to check the temperature. It was cool, but not freezing, because that would be agony on his hot skin.

"Up you get." She hummed, lifting him from his armpits. She helped him get undressed and lowered him into the water.

He shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling shakily.

"I've got you. Easy." She murmured, smoothing her hand over his hair.

She lifted the portable shower head and gently moved it over his shoulders and neck, wetting his hair but not his face. 

As she did that with one hand, her other worked into the muscles on his neck and down his back. 

He groaned, leaning forward. "Damn, Tash, that's good." 

"Well I owe you. I had that crick in my back for weeks before you managed to work it out."

She gently set the shower head down and touched her hand to his forehead. 

"You're a little cooler, c'mon, let's get you out." 

With a lot of manoeuvring and splashing, she had him in a pair of boxers and on the bed. 

She helped him wash his mouth out from being sick and began feeding him crackers, intermitted with a lot of water.

After that, she settled him under the blanket. He was shuddering now, freezing where earlier he'd been unable to stand the blanket against his skin.

She hushed him as he tried to speak, kissing his forehead and loveably stroking his hair. 

He fell asleep with her wrapped protectively around him. 

She woke to his pained whimpers, immediately on her knees as she pulled the blanket off him. 

She'd thought at first he was having a bad dream but she was panicked to realise he was having a seizure. 

She stepped off the bed and pressed her phone to her ear, telling medical to expect Agent Barton.

She then made sure his head was pillowed as she watched his jaw clench and his body spasm. 

She could almost feel the heat coming off him and knew the seizure had been caused by his temperature.

She counted in her head, wincing with each shudder and strangled gasp.

When he finally stilled, she touched his face to rouse him, speaking to him calmly.

"You're alright, Clint, you're in your room at Shield. You had a seizure and you have a temperature. I'm gonna get you down to medical." She breathed, his glazed eyes meeting hers but seeing straight through her.

With a lot of heavy lifting, she got him down to medical, out of breath as she placed him on the free bed.

Half an hour later, Clint was settled into medical.

He had an IV in the crook of his arm, giving him saline and glucose because he was close to dehydration. He had anti-seizure meds pumping through his veins. 

Ice packs were placed along his ankles, wrists and groin, a thin blanket covering his body.

He looked peaceful, sleeping off the worst of the infection.

He stayed in medical until he was well enough to go back to his room. 

Natasha stayed the entire time. She fed him crackers and water, gave him his medicine, soothed his brow and held him through the dreams. 

On the fourth day, his fever broke and he woke up with her sleeping against his chest.

"Natasha?" He breathed, touching her hair. 

She startled and jumped up, blinking the sleepiness from her eyes.

"Clint." She grinned and bent to press a kiss to his lips. 

She hummed softly, her hand sliding into his.

"Welcome back."


	19. Drugged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Natasha is drugged on a mission, it falls to Clint to contact the Avengers for help. Will they be able to get back to Bruce in time for them to find the antidote? Day 18 of prompt challenge. Includes slight Science-Boyfriends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Welcome to day 18 and if you enjoy, please leave a comment, they're my fave Christmas present! Tw for drugs, obviously, mentions of suggested sexual abuse, not rape, whilst drugged, mentions of accidental self-harm (doing it in the moment and not realising) and I think that's it.  
> Translations: (may be wrong alright bear with me)  
> ty so mnoy? – are you with me?  
> Ne trakhaytes', kosnites' menya, ya razorvu gorlo – do not fucking touch me, I’ll rip your throat out  
> Natalia, YA ne zdes', chtoby prichinit' tebe bol' – Natalia, I’m not here to hurt you  
> Vy dumayete, chto ya glup? – you think I’m stupid?  
> Net Talia, YA zdes', chtoby vy chuvstvovali sebya luchshe. Khorosho podumay. Ty znayesh' menya – No, Talia, I’m here to make you feel better, think carefully, you know me  
> Kotyonok- kitten  
> Moya Zvezda – my star
> 
> This is the first one (other than grief) that is set post-avengers. Tony, Bruce and Cap are in this chapter a little. Enjoy! 
> 
> DRUGGED

When Clint found Natasha in their marks room, she was unconscious across the bed. Her dress had been ripped and her bra was hanging off the side of the bed. 

Their mark was spread across the floor, blood spilling out from under him, his throat torn clean so Clint could see the veins and tendons underneath. His dark eyes stared unseeing but Clint paid him no mind.

He pulled his jacket off, placing it on the bed as he moved towards her.

His fingers measured her pulse, pursing his lips as he felt the frantic, skipping beats beneath his touch. 

Cursing, he scrambled to find Natasha's comms device, slotting it into his ear. 

"This is Agent Barton, does anybody copy?" 

Silence met him and he scanned the room, trying to find a reason for why she was passed out. 

He found the needle easily, cursing and breaking the needle part off carefully. He slid the part holding a little of the liquid into his pocket. 

This was their first mission with Shield since Phil had died. He wanted desperately to hear his voice in his ear but instead the comms crackled and went dead. 

Pulling out his phone, he dialled one of the numbers and pressed it in between his shoulder and ear as his hand reached down to peel back Natasha's eyelids.

Her eyes were completely rolled back, bloodshot and glazed. 

Just then the sound of ringing in his ear stopped and a voice started speaking. 

"You have reached the life model decoy of Tony-" 

"Shut up, Stark." Clint growled. "I need your help, more specifically, I need Bruce's help."

"What's up, Katniss?" Tony asked easily.

"We're on a mission. Comms are down. Widow has been drugged and is unconscious. I need a, evac and b, Bruce to find out what the hell she's been given, and c, him to help her."

"I'm finding your location now." Tony said quickly, the sound of tapping in his ears. 

"I've got it. I can either send a jet, or I can come get Natasha and bring her here. Depends how quick she needs to see Bruce."

"Hold on." Clint murmured, taking her pulse again and checking over her body. 

"I'd say pretty quickly. Her pulse is...erratic to say the least. She's freezing cold and her breathing sounds off. We can't wait for a jet."

"Understood, leaving now. A jet will be leaving shortly to pick you up." 

Clint sighed, hating to leave her but knowing she needed to see Bruce sooner rather than later. 

Clint lifted her top half, sliding the jacket around her and gently pushing her arms through the sleeves. He zipped it up and tried to pull it to cover her lower half. 

She was in only underwear, ripped up tights and the jacket, but there was nothing that could be done about it now. 

He rolled her into the recovery position and rubbed her calves with calloused fingers to try and get her blood flowing. 

Then it was just a waiting game. 

He checked her pulse every five minutes, finding it weaker and with even more skips each time. 

Her breathing was ragged and wet sounding, so he had no doubt there was fluid in her lungs.

Apart from that, he had no idea what the drug was doing. What it was doing to her body, to her brain. 

He had half an answer when she began seizing. It was definitely doing something to her brain; he had no idea what though. 

He gently tucked a pillow under her head, counting out loud as she spasmed and jerked under his oh so gentle touch on her forehead. 

He was careful not to hold her down, knowing she would injure herself badly if that happened. 

Soft grunts left her lips as she arched back, a little blood spraying across her lips.

Then she was still, agonisingly so, and with a shaky hand he measured her pulse again. 

Weak. Very weak but still there. Still breathing. 

"Hawkeye, I'm coming through the window. Stand back."

Clint jerked up, leaning over Natasha to shield her as the window exploded. 

Grunting, he pushed himself off, gathering Natasha in his arms. 

He carried her over to Tony, who was now inside the room. 

"Take care of her. Get her to Bruce and I swear to God, if you let her die, my arrows are going straight through that suit and into your soft and squishy parts. Got it?"

"Soft and squishy parts, understood." Tony murmured. "You're a psychopath, Barton."

He said nothing in answer to that, just passed his partner, best friend and girlfriend over to him, then the rest of the needle.

Tony, for all his jokes and playing around, cradled her gently. 

"She'll be okay, Clint." He said stiffly before backing up and shooting out the window, his repulsors firing and taking him as quickly as they could. 

...

When Tony slammed through the door with a shaking, unconscious woman in his arms, it took Bruce a good few seconds to realise it was Natasha. 

"Put her down." He ordered, immediately holding his hand out. 

"Set up the lab, send this down and stay with it. Jarvis knows what to do, as soon as the results are in, you come to me."

"Yes Sir." Tony muttered, placing Romanoff gently on the bed.

He shed his suit and left it where he stood as he took the broken needle down to the lab.

Bruce placed the earbuds of the stethoscope in his ears, unzipping the jacket to get better access. He paid no mind to her nakedness, placing the circle against her ribs. 

He listened carefully, able to hear a distinct crackling sound coming from her lungs, as well as the pulsing, off beats of her heart.

He placed the stethoscope down and quickly decided what the most pressing issue was. 

The fluid in her lungs would keep accumulating until they found what drugs were pumping through her.

She would drown before her heart gave out. 

Talking himself through it, he grabbed an empty, sterile needle and braced her back against the bed. 

In one fluid motion, the needle was stabbing through skin and tissue and into her left lung. He pulled the plunger, the tinged pink liquid filling the barrel of the needle. The next pull and it came out half full.

He moved to her other side, pressing the needle into the other lung. 

When that was done, he returned with the stethoscope, pleased to find the crackling a lot lot better. 

He could however, feel the struggling gallops and jumps of her heart.  
They needed those results and soon.

He gently pressed her onto her back, slipping an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth. 

He attached wires to her chest, getting her vitals up on the screen. 

Her blood pressure was way too low to be healthy, and it made sense when a couple of seconds later she was seizing.

He cursed, sliding something soft under her head and making sure she didn't hurt herself. 

He didn't want to give her diazepam, in case it interacted with the drugs she'd been given so he just had to watch. 

When she stilled, her vitals were worse, her heart struggling. It wouldn't be long until she went into arrest and he felt the Hulk rearing in his mind.

"Not now. Spider needs help." He growled, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

He touched her hair, calmer now, smoothing the red locks off her forehead. 

He kept his eyes on the screen, and the minute he saw the erratic beats still into a line, he was ready. 

He pushed down on her chest, compressing hard and fast.

"Jarvis, tell Tony to hurry up." He hissed, counting in his head.

Tony burst through the doors a few minutes later, a vial in his hand. 

"I have it, is she-" he froze as he took in the flat line across the screen. 

"Adrenaline, quickly, I'll load the antidote." Tony pushed past him, yanking down everything he needed. 

Bruce had a needle of adrenaline ready, wincing and whispering an apology before slamming it down into her chest, piercing her heart and depressing the plunger. 

He was immediately back compressing her chest, pushing the medicine around her body. 

Tony sidled up beside him, gently sliding the needle of the antidote into her neck. 

Bruce continued to give her compressions, and finally the quivering of her heart registered on the screens. 

He measured her pulse with his fingers, out of habit, nodding in relief. 

"She's stabilising." He said quietly, exhaling shakily.

Tony gently squeezed his shoulder, pressing a kiss to his temple. 

"Good job, Bruce." He said softly. 

"Let's get her covered up."

...  
An hour later, Clint was barrelling through the doors, walking into the chaos. 

Natasha was growling and snapping in broken Russian, spitting and jerking.

Steve was holding her shoulders down whilst Bruce tried to talk her down. 

"Clint." Tony breathed. "Thank fuck."

"What's going on?" He murmured, pushing into Natasha's line of view. 

"We gave her the antidote, but it's still lingering in her brain. Sedation or restraints?" Bruce ground out.

"Restraints, I can calm her down." Clint murmured, nodding at Steve.

Bruce quickly wrapped the straps around her wrists and ankles and gestured at the others to leave. 

"I'll be outside the door, there's a sedative over there if you can't bring her down." Bruce said softly.

Clint nodded and stepped closer to her, taking one hand. He winced as he saw the deep scratches along her arms, blood under her nails. 

"Natasha." He murmured. "Natasha, ty so mnoy?" He asked, tapping her cheek.

"Ne trakhaytes', kosnites' menya, ya razorvu gorlo." She growled, acid in her tone.

"Natalia, YA ne zdes', chtoby prichinit' tebe bol'." He murmured, brushing his thumb over her cheek. 

"Vy dumayete, chto ya glup?" She spat. 

"Net, Talia, YA zdes', chtoby vy chuvstvovali sebya luchshe. Khorosho podumay. Ty znayesh' menya." He watched her bloodshot eyes follow his every move. 

"My name is Clint." He said softly, in English, hoping to pull her mind back to him. 

"I'm your partner, I'm not going to hurt you."

"I will hurt you." She growled, accent thick with emotion. 

"No you won't." He said softly. "You know me, Natasha, you're my best friend."

Her gaze clouded, her head tilting in confusion. 

After a couple of minutes, a lot of blinking and starting sentences only to stop talking, Natasha lifted her head. 

"Clint?" She asked thickly, her tone wavering and nervous. 

"Natasha." He breathed. "Welcome back. You're at the tower, we were on mission and you got drugged. You've been given the antidote and you're okay, you're gonna be confused for a bit."

She certainly seemed very out of it. 

"What happened?" She whispered. 

"I...you don't remember me telling you?" He frowned.

"Bruce!" He called, his hand on Natasha's face. She was freezing still and he covered her naked top half with a thick blanket.

"What's wrong?" Banner asked softly, coming beside them. 

"She's forgotten what I've been telling her. It's only been a couple of minutes."

Bruce nodded and picked up his torch, gently shining it in her eyes. 

"The drug is still in her system. She's going to be pretty addled for a while. I'd like to keep her here until she's surer of where she is."

Clint nodded, leaning to undo the restraints. 

"Is that a good idea?" Bruce asked softly.

"Yeah, it freaks her out a lot more. She won't hurt herself, she's just confused."

Bruce nodded. "I'll be in the lab with Tony. I'm going to do a more in depth test on the drug." 

"Thanks, man, I'll call Jarvis if I need you."

Bruce nodded and left, Clint sitting on the bed with Natasha.

He held her to his chest, answering questions over and over again.

Later that night, she sat up, facing him. 

"Clint." She breathed, her eyes clearer. 

"Natasha, sweetheart." He murmured. "How are you feeling?"

"Rough." She said flatly. "I know where I am now."

"Good. Christ, Tasha, you scared me."

"Sorry, kotyonok." She hummed, leaning tiredly into his waiting arms. 

"You're alright now, Moya Zvezda. I've got you."

She closed her eyes, drifting off into a sleep her body desperately needed. 

"I love you, Nat." He whispered, stroking her hair. 

"I always will."


	20. Sleep Deprivation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint has been missing for two weeks, when Natasha finds him he has been drugged with something that has kept him awake for twelve of those days. He is upset and frantic, seeing something that isn't there.  
> Day 19 of prompt challenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Welcome to day 19! Reviews are my fave Christmas present!  
> Moya svezda - my star  
> moya solensyko – my sunshine  
> SLEEP DEPRIVATION

Natasha and the rest of Shield had been searching for Clint for nearly two weeks when they finally found someone who had information. 

In an hour, they had what they needed and were heading to his location. 

He'd been ambushed on a solo mission, they'd taken his comms and they'd lost contact. 

The men who had taken him were not at their usual places and he'd been carted from America to Sweden of all places. 

On the jet there, Natasha spoke softly with Hill and Coulson, going over and over their plan.

They didn't know if Clint would be alive, if he'd been tortured or just held. They had no idea what to expect.

There was a big team going after him, Natasha leading instead of Coulson. 

She fell into the role a little uneasily but she was thorough none the less. 

They landed at the base and split into three teams, one to the computers to get the information onto hard drives, two to dispose of the enemy and find Clint.

Natasha stalked the halls, Hill at her side, five agents spread around them.

They were quick and efficient, dropping the enemies and checking the rooms. 

It was by chance that Natasha's group was the one to find Agent Barton. 

Natasha sent the others to scout for more agents, her and Maria heading to Clint.

He was tied up to a chair, blinking rapidly at them. 

"Clint?" Natasha asked softly, kneeling in front of him.

 

Her quick eyes scanned his body, checking for injuries. 

He seemed relatively unharmed, which made no sense at all. He had a few cuts and bruises but was awake.

"Are you hurt?" She asked him as she untied the ropes around him.

"Not really." He said quietly, his words slightly slurred. 

Maybe they'd drugged him?

She tilted his chin up and that was where she found the little bruise by his jaw. Needle mark.

"Do you know what they gave you, Clint?" One hand cupped the side of his face, forcing him to look at her. 

"No." He shuddered, his gaze distant. 

"Something to keep me awake. I haven't slept in...how long have I been here?"

"Thirteen days." She said slowly, frowning. He was a little warm and when she took his pulse, it was a little fast. 

"You haven't slept at all since you've been here?" Maria asked, looking shocked. 

"The first few days, I think I grabbed a little sleep. Then they started the injections and I've been-" he cut himself off, his mouth opening silently as he stared behind Natasha at something they couldn't see.

"Barney." Clint whispered, reaching his hand out.

Natasha and Maria exchanged glances, looking back at the empty corner.

But Clint was moving towards him, his eyes fixed. 

"Barney what are you doing here?" He whispered, standing on trembling legs to walk towards the corner.

"Clint? “Natasha murmured, stepping in front of him. 

It was like he didn't hear her and he pushed past her, arm still outstretched.  
"Clint, there's no one there." She said softly, startled to see tears streaming down his cheeks. 

He'd lost some weight and the tears shined against his cheekbones.

"Clint?" She tried again, touching his shoulder. "Clint, Barney isn't there. He's gone, sweetheart."

Clint tilted his head but said nothing. She could see his body trembling, his hands making involuntary jerking motions. 

"We have to get him out of here." Natasha said quietly to Maria, his arm wrapping around Clint's waist.

He went with her easily enough as he spoke quietly to someone they didn't see. 

"I thought you were gone, Barney. I knew you'd come back for me." He murmured, making Natasha's heart wrench. 

Barney had abandoned him at the circus and he'd told her that two years after coming to Shield, he'd finally worked up the courage to try and find him. He'd found his gravestone instead. He'd gotten in with some really bad guys and had been stabbed to death. 

Clint continued talking as they reached the jet, him leaning heavily on Natasha.

She lay him down gently on the bed, taking his hand. His fingers jerked in hers, his whole body wracked with tremors. 

He was pale and sweating but physically seemed alright.

The sleep deprivation was mainly effecting his brain, and his glazed eyes stayed fixed on the spot he was sure his brother was in. 

Natasha couldn't get him to focus on her so she just let him have his moment with his dead brother. 

It started out okay, Clint just babbling about how he'd known he would come for him. How he wouldn't leave him. 

They Clint started to get panicked and it was clear whatever he was seeing wasn't innocent anymore. 

"Barney-" he gasped. "You're bleeding." 

Clint had tortured himself over not trying to find him sooner, even if his older brother had abandoned him. He'd gotten a hold of the autopsy results and had taken the pictures out and looked at them every day. 

He'd been stabbed 41 times, all over his body and the first pictures had been straight from the crime scene, his brother’s body in a massive pool of his own blood.

Clint gasped, breathing heavily through his nose. "Let me help." He pleaded. "Let me help."

Natasha nodded over the doctor, the man waiting with a sedative. 

She didn't give the okay until Clint had stood, shouting and screaming at the air, his breathing fast and ragged, his chest heaving. 

With pain in her eyes, she nodded and held his shoulders down to the bed as the medic slid the needle into his neck. 

He struggled desperately, screaming at the top of his lungs that he had to help, to get off him, his brother was dying why wouldn't they let him go!

He stilled after a few minutes and Natasha sank into her seat, hating herself for taking her from his brother, even if he hadn't really been there. 

Later that evening, Clint was sleeping peacefully, getting the rest his body so desperately needed. He had an IV giving him nutrients, and blankets covering him.

The doctors said that there would likely be no long lasting issues, and that it was unlikely he'd even remember anything from then getting there.

...  
Clint slept for 51 hours straight, finally beginning to wake up early the third day. 

Natasha hadn't left his side, was still in her Shield cat suit. Phil and Maria had taken turns dropping water and food off for her since she refused to leave him. 

She'd shoved her greasy hair up into a ponytail and had one of Phil's hooded sweatshirts over her suit.

When Clint began to wake up, she was taking his hand immediately, waiting with bated breath. 

"Ugh...Tasha?" He winced, looking over at her. "You look like shit." He said wryly, with a hint of worry. 

"Thanks." She said flatly, reaching over to stroke her hand through his hair. 

"You've been out for a couple of days." She said softly.

"Yeah, I feel like I have." He groaned. "You don't look like you've slept." He hummed, drawing his fingers over the bruises under her eyes.

She shrugged. "I'm fine. How're you feeling?"

"Tired still. Achy. Really not so bad. When did you find me?"

"Do you remember us coming to get you?" She asked instead of answering.

"Uh...no, not really. I vaguely remember being on the quinjet but that's it."

"I'm so sorry, Clint." She whispered, quickly rubbing at her eyes.

"Natasha? What is it?"

"I'm asked them to sedate you. I know you hate it but...but you were really agitated. You..."

"What?" He asked softly. "What's got you so upset?"

"You saw Barney. You were talking to him."

"Oh...shit, I'm sorry." He sighed. "That I don't remember."

"Why are you apologising?" She asked incredulously. 

"Because that couldn't have been nice to see." He shrugged. 

"It wasn't. I couldn't get you to focus on me. You were seeing...I don't know what, but I think his death. I didn't want to take him away from you but...you would've hurt yourself."

"Natasha, moya zvezda, thank you. Barney's gone and I wouldn't want to live through his death again." He shuddered. 

"I mean it. Thank you." He said quietly, squeezing her hand. 

"I...Um yeah, anytime." She frowned.

"It's alright. I get it, I wouldn't have liked to watch you live through your mama's death again. It was better that way."

Natasha nodded silently, brushing over his hair. 

"You need to shower and get some sleep." Clint murmured, squeezing her fingers. 

"I'm alright." She hummed, shaking her head.

"Alright then, how about you climb up here and sleep with me for a little bit. When I'm cleared to leave, we'll go shower in my room." 

She nodded, silently standing and clambering into the bed with him.

He wrapped his arms around her and sighed happily, yawning widely. 

"Sleep, moya solensyko." He hummed against her hair. 

She nodded and reluctantly closed her eyes, giving into sleep almost immediately. 

Clint held her gently, before closing his eyes and drifting off too.

Later they would wake up to a message from Coulson, the two off them cuddled up asleep. Clint was drooling and Natasha was clinging to him like a kitten. 

They would say they hated the picture but would find it framed in each of their rooms, one of the only pictures they had together.


	21. Panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton were not strangers to anxiety and panic attacks.   
> They could come out of nowhere, and were intense and downright scary sometimes.'  
> Natasha has a bad panic attack, Clint is at her side.  
> Day 20 of prompt challenge, enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Welcome to day 20. Before anyone says this chapter isn't realistic, I have major panic attacks myself so trust me I know what I'm writing. This chapter is shorter and probably less interesting but hey, I’m trying.  
> Other than that, enjoy!
> 
> PANIC

Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton were not strangers to anxiety and panic attacks. 

They could come out of nowhere, and were intense and downright scary sometimes. 

They never happened during a mission, let psych try to figure that one out, so they were never taken out of combat for their anxieties.

Natasha knew most of her triggers. Pitch darkness, being touched without permission, loud noises like fireworks. 

But sometimes the triggers would be things considered harmless, like a door slamming or someone talking Russian.

And then there were the panic attacks that came out of nowhere.

She and Clint had been winding down after a mission, watching some shitty spy movie on TV.

She could feel the beginnings of it start in her chest. 

There was an invisible weight pressing against her chest, hands tightening around her throat and the inexplicable urge to run away in her head.

Natasha pushed herself off the couch, taking a staggering step back till her back hit the wall.

She was vaguely aware of Clint in front of her, saying words she couldn't hear.

Her breathing came fast and ragged, her chest heaving as her nails scrambled across the skin of her throat. 

Her vision blurred and she slammed down to her knees, struggling desperately to try and get air into lungs that felt the size of a penny.

She clutched at Clint's arms, inviting him silently to touch her, to try and help.

She felt hands over her face and stroking her hair, holding her shoulders as he spoke to her. 

She was getting dizzy with the lack of oxygen, the sound of roaring in her ears. 

Her numbed fingers scrabbled for purchase, her eyelids fluttering. 

The last thing she heard was a panicked cry of her name before she slumped into something warm and everything went dark.

...

Clint had been happily enjoying some downtime, his arms wrapped around Natasha as they watched a film.

He was actually really enjoying it so it took him a minute to realise Natasha was pulling away.

"Tash?" He asked softly, following her as she stood but not touching her as she backed herself against the wall. 

"Natasha, you're okay. Can you look at me?"

She didn't seem to hear him and he worried as he watched her frantic, frenzied breaths.

Her eyes were glazed, and he got the feeling she could barely hear him.

Her breathing worsened and her nails drew blood as they dug into the skin at her neck.

He didn't touch her, knowing how that could make it worse. 

But then she was digging into his arms and inviting him in and he touched her.

He stroked through her hair, cupping her face to try and get her to look at him.

She was struggling weakly now, her entire being trembling as she openly gasped for air.

A few seconds later, she was slumping towards him.

He caught her, pressing her to her chest as she collapsed, passing out with a stuttered gasp, her eyes rolling back into her head.  
“Natasha?!”

Clint swallowed and picked her up, holding her gently. 

Her lips were a little blue so instead of taking her to bed, he took her down to medical.

He pushed through the doors, passing Phil was getting his arm re-wrapped after he'd gotten caught with a knife the day before.

Phil stood, following his agents to an empty room. 

The doctor that had been helping Phil, stepped towards them.

"Agent Barton, what happened?" He asked, quickly hooking Natasha up to the monitor. 

Her pulse flashed up, fast but strong, her oxygen below 80.

"She had a...real bad panic attack." He exchanged a glance with Phil.

"She passed out, couldn't get enough air."

The doctor nodded, gently placing an oxygen mask over her face.

"We'll run some tests, see if there's any other reason she may have been struggling to breathe." He said softly.

Clint thanked him, the doctor leaving to go book the scanner.

Clint sighed softly, taking Natasha's hand in his.

Coulson stepped beside him, pressing a hand against his shoulder.

"She'll be alright, Clint." He murmured.

...

She was alright.

Ten minutes later, her oxygen was almost back to normal and she was stirring.

She blinked slowly, flicking her eyes over to Clint and Phil.

"Ugh...what the hell?" 

"You remember what happened?" Clint murmured. 

The redhead nodded stiffly. "Unfortunately. Sorry." 

"Nothing to be sorry for. They're gonna take you for some tests, see if anything physical is wrong. But you're oxygen is normal again, so I doubt it."

"Nothing is wrong. Not physically wrong. I know it. It's my head...I'm fucked up." She mumbled.

Clint winced and Phil shook his head.

"You are not." They said in unison. 

"We can take a look at your meds, well psych can, see if they can change your anxiety ones. Or up them. It'll be alright." Phil said softly.

"I've got work to do, I'll book a meeting with psych. Come find me if you need me." He pressed a hand to their shoulders and turned to leave. 

Clint sighed heavily and drew a pattern on Natasha's palm.

She slid herself up on the bed, pulling the mask off.

Her vitals were good so he let her, moving to sit beside her on the bed.

"Can I hold you?"

"Please." She whispered.

He took her in his arms, kissing the side of her head. 

"It's gonna be alright, Natasha. We'll figure this out."

She believed him.


	22. Surrender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha and Clint are forced to surrender when the enemies they are fighting have Phil. Will they all make it out alive, or will they surrender their lives to save Phil's?  
> Day 21 of prompt challenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Welcome to day 21! 
> 
> SURRENDER

Natasha and Clint had enemies coming at them from all sides. 

They were two of the most dangerous assassins in the world, but all it took was one well timed explosion and they were briefly out of commission. 

They bomb had rocked the foundations around them and whilst they'd been thrown across the room, they were immediately on their feet.

The dust was stifling, crawling into their lungs and burning their eyes.

They shot out at anyone in their path, but these guys had masks and goggles and the two agents did not. 

Through the smoke, Clint didn't even see the metal bar coming down on his skull until it was too late.

He crumpled and Natasha growled, fire in her eyes as she attacked those who had dared touch her hawk.

Her eyes were blinded by tears, she coughed and tried to cover her mouth with one hand and fight with the other.

An arm wrapped around her throat and she threw the man off, sliding to the floor and cracking his nose with her fist.

There were so many men still approaching her, unhindered by the smoke that was holding Natasha back.

She fought valiantly, taking down a large chunk of the agents before a wily woman wormed her way through the gap and clamped her hand down around Natasha's mouth. 

The woman span them around, pushing back until they hit a wall. 

Natasha kicked and hit, hurting the woman, but not enough to make her stop.

There was a blinding pain in her skull and then darkness consumed her.

She woke to a cool hand against her forehead, blinking her burning eyelids open to find Clint hovering over her.

He had a dark trail of blood down the left side of his face but seemed otherwise unhurt.

"You with me, Tash?" He asked softly, helping her into a sitting position. 

"I...yeah. I'd kill for a glass of water." She unconsciously touched a hand to her throat.

"Yeah that smoke was rough." He hummed, deft fingers probing the throbbing at the back of her head. 

She winced minutely, batting his hand away. "I'm alright. Nothing we haven't had a thousand times before." 

Clint shrugged and dropped his hand, leaning close to her ear. 

"They're watching us. Probably listening." He jerked his head in the direction of a camera pointed at them. 

Natasha nodded curtly as she examined the room.

"One door, no windows, the lock looks to be a thumb print scanner, so no luck until our captors come back." She hummed.

Clint nodded and turned so his face was against the wall.

Natasha copied him, leaning her head against the wall so her hair was covering her face.

They sat like that until their captors came back.

They spent the time signing words against each other’s hands, Natasha's hair hiding their movements from view.

They made their plan, and lifted their heads when the door opened.

The man that walked in, they didn't recognise, but the woman at his side was the quick little fucker that had knocked Natasha out.

One of them had obviously the right print for the scanner, so Natasha and Clint stood and readied themselves for a fight.

"Ah ah, now I know what you're thinking." The man began. "But you are going to surrender, believe me."

"From where I'm standing, it looks like you're the ones who are gonna be surrendering." Natasha said smoothly.

Clint nodded once and they leapt towards the pair, Natasha heading for the woman and Clint for the man.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, not if you want to see...who is he? Friend? Lover? Boss? Whatever. We have him, and you're gonna get on your knees for us or we slit his throat."

Clint growled lowly. "There's no way you have him." He hissed.

The man raised his eyebrow and pulled something from his pocket.

When it landed at their feet, Natasha held back a wave of nausea. 

It was unmistakably Phil's tie.

Dammit Coulson, Clint inwardly cursed. He'd been watching them throughout the mission, supposedly safe in the apartment they'd been living in for the past week.

"For all we know, that's your tie." Clint shrugged. "You're idiots, Phil is way too smart for you."

"Really?" The woman grinned, looking straight into the camera, beckoning whoever was watching with her finger.

The door opened and before the agents had time to run to it, two more men were dragging a body into the room.

Clint cursed under his breath and Natasha stiffened as the men unceremoniously dropped the body at their feet.

It was Phil, unconscious, blood at his temple.

Before either one could reach for their handler, he was being lifted again, moved back with their captors.

The woman slid a knife from her belt and pressed the tip to Phil's jugular. 

"Surrender and maybe we let him leave when we're done."

Natasha swallowed back anger, shooting daggers at the woman as she got onto her knees.

Clint followed suit, growling. "You are going to die. Slowly and painfully." The archer murmured, getting an answering laugh from the man in charge.

"Say it, say you surrender to us. To the circle, say it." The woman hummed, clearly enjoying it as the knife drew he smallest drop of blood at Phil's neck. 

"I surrender to the circle." Natasha spat, elbowing Clint until he said the same.  
"Excellent." The man grinned. "A sound choice, I assure you." 

He looked over at the woman, nodding. With a sigh, she dropped Phil.

That was when Natasha and Clint attacked.

Phil had been an unexpected hurdle, but they'd dealt with hostage situations so before anyone could drag Phil back out the room, the two assassin were raining hell down on 'the circle'.

The two agents that had brought Phil pulled out guns, firing round after round that they darted out of the way of.

Natasha felt a burning pain under her ribs but pushed forward, squeezing the life out of the woman caught under her thighs.

When she lifted her head, the three men were down and Phil was already stirring. 

"Coulson? Phil, hey you're alright, look at me." Clint grunted, helping him sit up like he had with Natasha earlier.

"We don't surrender to anyone." Natasha growled at the lifeless woman, stepping over her to help with Phil.

He was already speaking, looking a little dazed but overall okay.

"God, that was way too close." Clint grunted, steadying Phil against the wall and checking him for further injuries.

Finding none, it looked like he'd just been knocked out like the both of them had, he turned to look over Natasha.

The redhead was shaky on her feet and his eyes were immediately pulled to the growing bloodstain on her cat suit.

"Shit-" he grunted, pushing himself to his feet and reaching her just as she collapsed backwards.

He just managed to catch her head and stop it cracking on the floor. 

"Natasha?" He murmured, pushing his hand down on the wound just below her ribs.

She grunted at the pressure, gritting her teeth.

"It's a through and through, I can feel the bullet isn't there." She murmured. "I'll be okay, we need to get back to the safe house."

"I alerted Shield when they stormed the safe house, they're sending a team out." Phil murmured, coming over to them, slightly unsteady.

Clint pulled his gaze from his, startled when he looked down to find Natasha's eyes shut.

"Tasha?" He tapped her cheek, watching as she struggled to open her eyes. 

"Alright, sweetheart, eyes on me. Keep your eyes open." He grunted, nodding at Phil as he easily lifted his partner into his arms.

They made it out and to the safe house in a matter of ten minutes, Natasha fading in and out of consciousness the whole time.

Waiting for the Shield team was harder, they took their sweet ass time getting there.

Clint had stitched up her wound as best as he could and was sitting with her in his lap, trying to trickle water down her throat when Shield finally turned up.

Natasha had been unconscious for the last hour, her pulse thready but strong as he checked.

She'd lost a lot of blood but nothing important had been hit, and when they got onto the jet and the medics started a blood transfusion, she was surprisingly resilient, lifting her head, instantly trying to find Clint.

He was sitting beside her and he smiled, brushing his thumb over her cheek.

"Hey, Tash. You scared me again." He hummed, nodding over at Phil as she began searching again. 

"He's got a bit of a bump, but he's okay." He assured her, easing her back on the stretcher. 

Her eyelids fluttered and Clint held her as she fell asleep, her body needing time to heal.

"You were right, Natasha." He spoke to her sleeping form as he looked from her to Phil.

"We don't surrender to anyone."


	23. Shower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a rough mission, Natasha and Clint enjoy some downtime and a nice shower. Natasha is rundown and sick, Clint takes care of her. More fluff and comfort than whump but shhh! Day 22 of prompt challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Welcome to day 22. I'm sick as fuck right now and since I already did fever, I thought I'd turn today's word into a sick fic. Enjoy and don't forget to comment if you enjoy!  
> Moya zvezda - my star  
> Moya solyensko - my sunshine  
> Kotyonok - kitten
> 
> SHOWER

Many people thought that showering together was the sexiest thing two lovers could do together.

Natasha and Clint weren't like many people.

Sure showers could be fun and sexy, but in their line of work they were also soothing and very much needed after a hard mission. 

Clint and Natasha had had a particularly rough mission and after both spending a couple of days in medical, were desperate for a shower, clean clothes and food.

Clint had his arm around Natasha's waist, helping her as she limped into their now shared room.

Her ankle wasn't broken, just badly sprained but it was still painful to walk on so she didn't mind the help. 

Once in the bathroom, Clint helped her strip out of her clothes and directed her under the warm spray of water. 

She groaned softly, wincing. The tensing of her shoulders sent her into a coughing fit and she braced her hands on the wall.

They'd been caught in an explosion, and whilst they'd barely been hurt during it, the building had caught on fire soon after, filling the halls with thick dark smoke.

It had taken Natasha longer to free herself from the debris and by the time Clint had found her outside the building, she'd been passed out on the grass, struggling to breathe.

Medical had been giving her oxygen for the past three days and her lungs had cleared up immeasurably, but being on her feet after three days’ rest had aggravated the coughing again. 

He turned her from the wall, guiding her to sit down. They'd had a sort of...shower bench installed, for moments exactly like this. 

The redhead blinked silently as the wracking coughs died down to little ones. 

"Easy, Tash, as soon as we're done we'll get you back on some oxygen." Clint murmured, gently wiping over her face and shoulders with a wash cloth. 

"I hate...feeling so weak." She murmured, her voice raspy and hoarse. 

"I know, Nat, but sometimes this is how it is. And you're not weak, you're just sick." He shook his head as he carefully wiped the grime from the rest of her body. 

When that was done, he quickly scrubbed at himself until he was pink and clean.

He washed Natasha's hair next, gently combing through the tangles and sticky bits of God knows what. 

He lathered her favourite shampoo over her hair, digging his fingers into her scalp.

She exhaled shakily, humming and tilting her head back. 

He smiled, slightly smug that he was the only one permitted to get close enough to do this sort of thing. 

He rinsed her hair, keeping the spray of water from her face. 

"All done, moya zvezda." He hummed, turning off the water and lifting her to her feet. 

He wrapped her up in a towel and guided her to the bed. In just those seconds, she was coughing again. Deep, painful coughs that shook her entire body.

He made quick work of getting her into some clothes, his sweatpants and old tee.

He pressed her back against the copious amounts of pillows, knowing the coughing would be worse if she lay down fully. 

He pulled over the oxygen tank, pressing the mask over her face. 

When her coughing had lessened, her breathing a little better, he took the mask off and replaced it with the tube that went up her nose. 

She looked exhausted, her eyelids already drooping. 

He sat back too, gently pulling her to lean her head against his chest. 

"Thanks, kotyonok." Natasha murmured, forcing her eyes open to look up at him. 

"Of course, moya solensyko. You know I'd do anything for you." He hummed. 

"Even get me some food?" She smiled wryly. 

Clint chuckled. "Of course."

"Foot rub?"

"You got it, Nat."

"Hmm...sing for me?"

"As you wish."

The redhead smiled, "I never should've let you watch The Princess Bride. You never stop quoting it."

Clint grinned, shrugging. "What can I say, I'm a nerd and you love me for it."

"Yeah. I do." She sighed softly, nuzzling against his chest. She was always...craving touch when she was sick and Clint was more than happy to give it to her.

"But really, I am hungry." She waggled her eyebrows.

Clint chuckled and nodded, gently placing her back against the cushions and standing. 

"Any preference?" He hummed.

"My throat is killing me so...jello? Ice cream?" 

"Of course m'lady." He bent over, bowing and sweeping his arm. "At your service."

Natasha rolled her eyes, throwing a cushion at him. "Shut it, Barton."

"You'd hate it if I actually shut up." He grinned. "I'll be back soon."

...

Clint came back soon indeed, his arms full and an easy grin on his face. 

"I raided the fridges and went down to the canteen." He poured his findings onto the bed.

"Vanilla pudding, strawberry jello, three kinds of juice, peanut butter sandwich and you would not believe how difficult it was to find mint choc chip ice cream."

"My hero." Natasha pretended to swoon, but she was secretly very pleased. 

"What would you do without me?" Clint hummed, taking his place back at the top of the bed, pulling the food over to them. 

...

The next day was spent in bed, eating soft foods until her throat felt better, watching films and playing board games. 

It felt amazing to have some down time and when they next showered, Natasha was feeling a lot better and so they could make use of the shower bench in a completely different way.

...

;) ;) ;)


	24. Sensory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an explosion, Clint is left without his hearing. Natasha helps him through, and with The Avengers around, they will never be alone again. Day 23 of prompt challenge Whump/fluff/family what more would you want. Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Welcome to day 23. Ever since I found out Clint was deaf in the comics, I've wanted to write something like this. Also, I'm not deaf, I don't know anyone who is so I'm trying my best. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> SENSORY

"Hawkeye!" Natasha roared, seeing the grenade thrown just out of time to do anything but drop to her stomach and slap her hands over her ears. 

The sound was deafening and she could feel herself screaming as hot air and chunks of wall came raining down. 

Wincing, she slowly pulled her hands from her ears, blinking her eyes open form where she'd squeezed them shut.

The man who had thrown the grenade had literally been blown apart from the blast and she felt sick as she clambered to her feet. 

"Hawkeye? Clint, answer me!" She moved to wear she'd last seen him, hearing a strangled gasp from her right. 

In seconds she was beside her partner, crashing to her knees next to him. 

"Clint?" She whispered, her eyes wide as she rolled him over from his front onto his back. 

Somehow, he was still conscious, his gaze glazed over as he looked up at her. 

His face was twisted with panic as he clutched at the side of his head. 

With a start, she realised blood was dripping down both sides of his face from his ears. 

"Shit." She whispered, pushing herself into his view. 

He bucked up, a soft gasp escaping his lips. His fingers clawed at his ears and she quickly ripped his hands down. 

He couldn't hear her.

His eardrums had...been ripped open from the blast. She could tell from the blood pooling in his ears and dripping down his cheeks that it wasn't good.

It would be so fucking painful, she could see his face drain of colour as he tried to sit up. 

She grabbed his shoulders, pressing him back down to the floor. 

When he didn't look like he would try to get up again, she touched his forehead and gently guided his face to hers.

She thanked the heavens that they'd both learned basic sign language. It made things easier on missions when they couldn't talk out loud.

'You are going to be okay' her fingers fluidly moved to match the words.

'Stay still. Calm. Will get you out'

Clint exhaled shakily, his face screwed up with a mixture of fear and pain but his eyes held undivided belief. In her. 

She hoped she would be worthy of that. 

'Up. I will help. Lean on me'

She placed her hand on his shoulder and wrapped her other arm around his waist. 

Getting him up was incredibly difficult. His balance was completely shot, and she knew he was in an awful lot of pain.

He stumbled with every step, his breathing ragged and his body tense and rigid. 

She was supporting nearly all of his weight, almost dragging him along. 

Natasha could see by the lines of his face that he was close to passing out. She wanted to tell him to just hang on, they'd be at the jet soon, but he wouldn't hear her.

The next two minutes were agonising, his limbs weak. They both ended up on their knees a couple of times before she would stand and drag him back up. He would stumble forward a few steps and it would happen again, and again until they finally reached the drop point. 

The jet was landing as they got there and soon medics were swarming them and pulling Clint up and onto a stretcher.

Natasha exhaled, body trembling with exertion as she sank down into a seat next to Clint. 

She watched as they shone lights in his eyes, prodded at his ears until he howled. They wrapped his head in bandages and sedated him, calling ahead to Shield to book the operating theatre.

Natasha slowly backed away to let them have their space, sliding a phone from one of the agents.

She slumped down in the corner of the jet, pressing the phone to her ear. 

"Tony Stark."

"It's Natasha, I...we need your help."

"What can I do for you, Little Red?" 

"Clint. He...there was an explosion. His eardrums burst. They're taking him to surgery but...I know what the means. I know it's not good. I..."

The voice was soft and serious now. "What do you need?"

"Hearing aids. Fucking good ones, the best you can make. He relies on his sight and his hearing, without them...he will always be amazing, but to him? That's the end of the world."

"I'll get right on it." Tony murmured. "I promise, Nat, me and Bruce, we'll sort this." A soft pause and a yell at the other side of the phone. "Bruce!"

Natasha sighed, wincing. The adrenaline was wearing off and she was beginning to feel the pain from the explosion.

"Tasha? It's Bruce. Are you heading to medical?"

"Yeah." She sighed softly. "He's going straight to surgery. I won't ask for anything ever again, please help Clint. His hearing is so important to him."

"Natasha, you can ask for anything. You're a part of this team." He said softly. 

Natasha didn't answer that, just closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall. 

"Tasha?" 

"Sorry, I...I think I drifted for a second there."

"Are you hurt?"

She shrugged, even knowing he couldn't see. 

"Not really. Clint got the worst of it."

"I'm gonna swing by medical anyways, Tony can handle the plans for the hearing aids. You shouldn't be alone whilst Clint's in surgery."

A warmth settled through her and she actually smiled. "I'd appreciate that, Bruce. Thanks."

...

They reached Shield in under the hour, the medics taking Clint straight to surgery.

Natasha found her way to the waiting room and slumped down in a seat. 

She wasn't sure how long she'd been there when a soft hand settled on her shoulder. 

"Natasha?" Bruce asked softly, a little uncertain. 

She smiled shakily at him, giving him a quick, soft hug. Sometimes she found words hard so she made sure to convey how grateful she was with the hug.

He smiled back, gently leading her to the nearest empty room. 

"Take a seat." He said softly, placing his backpack down. 

He went about cleaning her cuts and stitching some of the worse ones, clicking his tongue at the one she'd somehow acquired down the side of her face. She hadn't even felt it.

"Did you bang your head at all?" He hummed, shining a light in her eyes. 

"Don't think so. It happened so quickly." She shrugged, wincing at the pain it sent up her ribs. 

He appraised her carefully, pushing her to lay down.

They'd been in undercover clothing so it was easy to lift the hem of her shirt, his gentle fingers probing the tender skin.

"I don't think any ribs are broken, definitely bruised. I'll wrap then up just in case and then you're done."

He tucked the bandage around her torso, securing it in place and taking her hand to help her sit up.

"Thanks, Bruce." She said softly.

He nodded, pulling out his phone. 

"Tone? Yeah I'm with her now, hang on let me put you on speaker." He pressed the button and held the phone out to her. 

"Red, I just wanted to check in. I've got the plans all sorted, Jarvis will work on creating the actual hearing aids over the next couple hours."

Natasha exhaled, leaning heavily against the wall. "I appreciate it, Tony."

"Of course, bird brain is one of ours. But look uh...you know he's not gonna be able to use them until his ears are healed more so how about when Clint's cleared, you both come stay here for a while."

Natasha pursed her lips and sighed. "Yeah. Okay. If I won't be in the way of you and your boyfriend." She smirked.

Bruce flushed, rubbing the back of his neck. 

Tony actually laughed. "I have missed your quips, red. I'll see you later."

...

The next couple of months were extremely difficult. But where Natasha and Clint had once only had themselves and Phil, they now had four superheroes at their sides.

Steve had given them all handouts on basic sign language, and had spent an insane amount of time learning it himself.

Bruce bandaged and checked his ears every day, finally clearing him for the hearing aids two weeks after the explosion.

Tony worked night and day to get the hearing aids perfect, calibrated to Clint specifically.

Thor, when he was on Earth, showered Clint with food gifts and games to raise his spirits.

Natasha was still his life line though, never leaving his side. She helped him walk when his balance was particularly bad, rubbed his temples and soothed his brow when his headaches got worse.

She calmed him when he would wake from a dream, terrified that he couldn't hear. She told him stories through sign language, touching her fingers to his.

She made sure he ate every morning, afternoon and night, even if he was in pain that made him feel sick. She fed him his pain meds, and held him as he threw them up minutes later.

One month after the explosion, the pain had lessened and he had his hearing aids in nearly constantly.

He nearly wept when Bruce had first spoken to him and he'd been able to hear. He'd hugged every one of them and clung to Natasha, tears on his cheeks. 

He thanked them all reverently and two months after the explosion, he was almost back to normal.

He had moments of weakness, where his balance would leave him and the pain would make him rip the hearing aids out.

But he was back on the range, shooting arrows with his brilliant precision. He was engaging in conversation, shooting one liners and joking around with the rest of them.

That was when Natasha and Clint moved into the tower permanently. 

...

Two months and one day after the blast, they two assassins lay in bed. Completely naked and sated, they kissed languidly. 

He'd very much enjoyed being able to hear her soft moans and breathless whimpers as they made love.

"I like it here." Clint hummed, tilting his head to kiss her forehead. 

"It's certainly better than the Shield rooms." She sighed.

"I know we're used to doing this together, alone, and we will always be there for each other. But it's nice to have others we can rely on." 

"Agreed. You will always be my first, but it is nice to have them." She sighed softly, a smile on her face.

"They've helped so much through this. But, Nat, I could've never done it without you." He cupped her cheek, running her thumb over her cheekbone. 

"I don't know what I would ever do without you."

"Good job you'll never have to find out."


	25. Threat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'I won't touch Barton. Not until I make him kill you!  
> Slowly, intimately, in every way he knows you fear! And then he'll wake just long enough to see his good work, and when he screams, I'll split his skull!'  
> In the aftermath of the battle of New York, Clint tries to find out what Loki said to Natasha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Barton told me everything. Your ledger is dripping, it's GUSHING red, and you think saving a man no more virtuous than yourself will change anything? This is the basest sentimentality. This is a child at prayer... PATHETIC! You lie and kill in the service of liars and killers. You pretend to be separate, to have your own code. Something that makes up for the horrors. But they are a part of you, and they will never go away!... I won't touch Barton. Not until I make him kill you!  
> Slowly, intimately, in every way he knows you fear! And then he'll wake just long enough to see his good work, and when he screams, I'll split his skull! This is MY bargain, you mewling quim!' -Loki
> 
> Welcome to day 24!
> 
> THREAT

Three days after the Battle of New York, right in the heart of Shield, Natasha and Clint sat side by side.

Clint had been going through therapist after therapist, gone through rigorous testing and had been poked and prodded by more doctors than he had fingers for.

Waiting on the news about whether he was cleared or not, Clint finally got Natasha to talk to him.

"I'm sick and tired of talking about myself, Tash." He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Do you think you'll regress? Do you remember what you did, who you killed? Do you think about killing people often? I'm fucking sick of it." Clint lowered his head into his hands, the exhaustion clear on his face.

"I know." Natasha said softly, pulling one of the hands from his face and holding it in her own. 

"Just a couple more hours, the hard part is over. Just a couple more hours and we'll know." 

"You still haven't said, Tasha, what did Loki do to you?" He turned his body to face her, trying to catch her eyes as her gaze drifted to the floor. 

"He didn't...I just..." She swallowed hard, shaking her head.

"He just...reminded me of my past. Threatened me." She shrugged. "Compared to what he did to you, it's as tame as anything." She murmured. 

"Natasha." Clint said softly but firm, his thumb under her chin, finally able to catch her gaze.  
She didn't want him to feel even more guilt, he didn't remember telling Loki everything about Natasha and she was loath to tell him. But he was her partner, her boyfriend, her everything   
He deserved to know.

"He...mentioned some...colourful moments from my past. Dreykov, Sao Paulo, the hospital fire." Her voice caught on the last one, her mind flitting back to that awful awful day. 

"The children's ward." Clint sighed softly, squeezing his eyes shut. "I told him about it. Fuck, Natasha, I'm so fucking sorry." His voice grated and his head dropped, the emotion clear in his tone. 

"It wasn't you." She said quietly, brushing her fingers over his hair. 

"What else?" He asked quietly. 

Natasha sighed deeply, pulling her hand back. "He...told me that...you would kill me. I believe his words were 'slowly, intimately, in every way he knows you fear'." She knew those were the exact words, they were engraved in her brain. 

"He said that you would wake just long enough to see your good work and..." Her voice hitched. "When you screamed, he'd split your skull." She finished in a whisper.  
Clint faltered, moving away from her touch. "Jesus fucking Christ, Natasha." He growled, putting his hands against the wall to try and ground himself. 

"It was just a threat, Clint." She said quietly. "Just trying to get under my skin."

"But it wasn't just a threat was it? I did come for you, I did fight you and I was going to kill you. Slowly, painfully, unbound so you could clearly see it was me." He inhaled sharply, squeezing his eyes shut against the memory. "I was murderous, I could feel the rage in my veins. I wanted you dead. I wanted to watch the...the life bleed out of you. I wanted my face to be the last thing you ever saw." 

Natasha had slowly curled in on herself as he'd been speaking, her knees up to her chest, her gaze blank as she stared at the wall. It took her a few moments to compose herself before she could speak again.

"Clint..." She started softly, "I almost killed you once too. I put my hands around your neck and I squeezed and I squeezed until your eyes rolled back and you were close to death. Would I have chosen to do that if I was in my right mind? No, absolutely not." She said quietly. "Would you have wanted to kill me if Loki hadn't been controlling you? Well, would you?"

"No, Natasha, fuck." He growled. "Of fucking course I wouldn't."

"Well then." She said softly. "There you go." 

Clint exhaled shakily, pressing his forehead to the wall before turning and stalking over to her.

"Can I kiss you?" His eyes were burning into hers and all she could do was nod. 

He kissed her, hard, filled with passion and rage and angst. 

She moaned softly against his lips and in seconds, he had pressed her against the wall, pinning her. 

She only moaned again, pressing her body against his, kissing like her life depended on it.

They fitted together like two pieces of a puzzle, and Natasha was more than happy to let Clint bruise her body with his grip. 

"Just a threat." He murmured, kissing down the side of her jaw and neck.

"Just a threat." She whispered breathlessly, arching her back and sliding her arms around him. 

"Now take me to bed." She growled lowly.

"It would be my pleasure."


	26. Thrown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a mission, Clint and Natasha are tasked to find an 0-8-4, an object of unknown origin.  
> What they find is a scared girl with the power to throw them into the wall without touching them.  
> Natasha is hurt, Phil is alive, and everything is fucked up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Welcome to day 25. One point to make, I've never had a neck injury so I'm making it up as I go along. I've done a lot of research so hopefully it's believable. 
> 
> Also, there will be a surprise guest in this one!
> 
> THROWN

"Widow on your six!" Hawkeye grunted into the comms, arrows firing rapidly from his expert fingers.

They often worked that way, when Shield wanted their enemy to know who was killing them. Then Clint would don his Hawkeye costume and take out his flashiest bow. Natasha would wear her red and black cat suit, Widow's mark on the belt, her bites at her wrists and red guns in her hands. 

Natasha, thanks to Clint's warning, ducked out of the way and fired a shot into the temple of the man in front of her. 

Get to the 0-8-4, grab it, get out. 

When the room was clear, Hawkeye dropped down from the rafters, landing beside Natasha. 

"Shall we?" He hummed, notching another arrow as they headed to the next door.

"On three." She murmured, taking her place by the side of the doorframe.

"One, two-" Clint kicked in the door and they advanced. 

What they found was not a magical item, a bomb or a piece of tech.

They found a woman, girl really, at least 8, maybe 9 years younger than them. And she was inexplicably, somehow wearing a Shield issue tee.

Clint and Natasha looked at each other before looking back to the girl. 

Did she have the 0-8-4 on her? 

"Hey...are you Shield or did you find that shirt at a store?" Clint raised an eyebrow, taking a step forward.

The girl in front of them was shaking lightly, her head pressed against her palms. 

She had dark brown, almost black hair coming to her shoulders and the Shield tee was falling off her shoulder, like it was someone else's. 

Natasha saw a flash of the label in the back of the shirt and her heart hammered to a stop. 

It had to have been a coincidence. It had to be. 

There across the stitching in black marker sat the initials 'P.C'.  
But it wasn't a mistake because there, at the hem of the shirt was the hole Clint had put there when he'd been wearing it. He'd snagged the material with one of his practice arrows and after that, Phil had taken all his shirts and childishly scrawled his initials in all of them. 

"Who the hell are you?" Clint growled, coming to the conclusion about Phil's shirt just seconds after her.

"Where the fuck did you get that shirt?" He asked, taking a step forward. 

The girl lifted her head, still shaking and flung her hand out. 

"I'm not telling you anything!" She screamed, her eyes flashing open. 

Then things got hazy.

Natasha and Clint were thrown backwards into the wall, without the girl even touching them.

Natasha had been further back so she crashed against the wall first, Clint slamming into her.

The girl had stood and was staring at them now. Her face twisted and her mouth opened. 

"Shit." She breathed. "Fuck. Shit. I'm sorry. I...I thought you were them...I didn't...."

Clint groaned, falling forward onto his knees. 

The pain was intense, blood dripping down into his eyes. But he forced himself to turn, eyes falling on his partner.

"Natasha?" He whispered, his heart pounding in his ears. 

His partner was half slumped up the wall, her eyes closed and an unnerving amount of blood dribbling down her head and coating her neck. 

Please, he prayed silently, please.

His fingers shook as he pressed them against her neck.

The girl stepped towards them, her face pale. Clint vaguely realised something was wrong with her arms. There were dark tendrils up her forearms, bruises dark and black winding up her fingers and wrist. He couldn't bring himself to care. 

"Is she-" the girl whispered. 

"She's alive." He said flatly, eyes dark.

His fingers hadn't just felt her pulse, he'd felt the grating of bone beneath his fingers. 

"Her neck is fractured, broken maybe." He touched his comms. "I need Shield med evac, Agent Romanoff is down, neck appears to be broken."

"Do you have the 0-8-4?" Came Hill's voice in his ear. 

"I don't know." He growled, looking up at the girl. "Do we?" He asked pointedly. 

"I...I'm the 0-8-4." She said quietly, nodding her head. 

"We have it. Get here." Clint spat.

The girl took another step towards them. 

"My...I'm Daisy. I'm a Shield agent." She said quietly. 

"Shield doesn't exist anymore." He said flatly.

"Doesn't it?" She pointed at his outfit. "It looks like it does from here."

Clint only glowered at her.

"I'm sorry. They...they've been questioning me for days. I thought you were just...more of them. I was expecting a rescue, yeah, but from my team." She said softly, taking Clint's silence as anger but still getting to her knees beside Natasha. 

"Your team?" Clint asked quietly, eyes on the hole in her shirt. 

"Who are they?" She asked for him. "There's six...five of us." She said quietly. "I'm Daisy, Daisy Johnson. I'm...an inhuman."

"Yeah. I got that." 

"Right. Of course. There's me, Jemma Simmons and Leo Fitz, two amazing science guys. Melinda May and Phil Coulson." 

Clint actually had to sit down at that, his head swimming. 

"Phil Coulson..." the name hurt to say, "is dead." He said flatly, daring her to argue. 

"I...I saw him a few days ago before they took me. He...he was fine." She frowned, face twisting with panic. 

"No, no Phil died two years ago." His chest was tight. 

"Oh!" The girls eyes widened. "Oh, no, no I get why you think that. Fury...The Director, he brought him back. I still don't entirely know how but it was awful for him. He has nightmares all the time but...uh, you don't need to know that. I talk a lot when I'm nervous, I'm sorry." She mumbled. 

Clint was shocked into silence, just blinking and trying to register what the fuck was going on.

Eventually he spoke. "Do you know who we are?" 

"Yeah of course. I mean you guys are legends, like seriously."

"Then you know who our handler was?" He raised an eyebrow. 

"Oh uh...no, I don't actually." She frowned. 

"Coulson. He was our handler for ten years." His voice was strained. 

"Oh...fuck. I...he didn't tell you about this? I mean, of course he didn't. You didn’t even know he was alive. Fuck...I'm sorry. Shit." She rubbed a hand over her face. 

From beside them, a soft groan pulled their attention. 

Clint gave her a look that said their conversation was far from over.

"Nat? Hey, just look at me. Don't move. Stay still." He cupped her cheeks, both for comfort and to steady her neck. 

"You're injured, you hurt your neck so just stay still for me."

"Clint-" She rasped, her eyes wide with panic. "Clint...I can't...I can't-" She was half gasping now.

"I can't...feel anything." She whispered, eyes on Clint's face. 

"Hey, hey you're in shock. You're okay. It's not permanent." He whispered back, trying to put on his reassuring face. 

"Can't...move-" She gasped, anguish plain on her features. 

"We'll sort it. I've got you. It's gonna be okay." He said weakly.

Daisy had watched the exchange silently but when Natasha looked so scared she was close to tears, she spoke. 

"H...hi Agent Romanoff. I'm Daisy. I'm sorry about throwing you, I thought you were one of them."

Natasha watched her out the corner of her eyes, saying nothing. 

"I know, I know nothing I say can make it better but..." She swallowed hard. "I think I can help."

"How?" Clint glowered, hands still on Natasha's face. 

"The...the powers I have. They're not just good for throwing. I can...manipulate things, bind things or pull them apart. I can...I can try to fuse the broken pieces back together. I've had months to practice, train..."

Clint looked uncertain, he didn't want her anywhere near his partners neck, not after what she'd done. But it wasn't his choice to make.

Natasha flicked her eyes down at the shirt she was wearing, thinking sluggishly through her options. 

"I know that shirt." She said quietly, wincing in pain. "He's alive, isn't he? And you're one of his."

"AC…I mean…Phil's? Y...yeah I am." She said quietly. "I'm sorry."

"He trusts you. To give you that shirt. He really...trusts you."

"I like to think he does." Daisy said quietly. 

"Well then, from one of his previous agents to his new one." She was only a little bitter. Okay, a lot bitter but that would be dealt with later. "Do it."

"Are you sure, Tash?'' Clint frowned. "I'm seems like a bad idea."

"If there's a chance...I won't have to go through surgery, I'll take it. You know how long these things take to heal." Natasha said weakly, swallowing at another wave of pain, only hitting her head and throat and nothing below that. 

Daisy nodded, rubbing her hands together. 

"Um...Hawkeye, you're gonna want to let go of her."

Clint reluctantly pulled his hand from her face and sat back on his heels. 

What happened next was nothing short of a miracle.

Natasha felt waves of hot and cold wash over her, her mouth twisting open and a sharp scream leaving her lips at the agonising pain of bone being pressed together. 

It was over quickly and feeling came slamming into her body, tingling in all her extremities. 

Daisy sank back, breathing hard like she'd just ran a race, the bruises on her arms extending up to her shoulders and across her collarbones. 

The girl pressed herself to the wall, startlingly pale, her eyes hooded. 

"I did...what I could. I can't heal muscle or nerve damage but..." She said quietly, voice slurred. 

Clint had just helped Natasha to a sitting position when the girl slumped, eyes closed. 

The pain in Natasha's neck was still agonising but she moved forward on her hands and knees. 

The girl was breathing comfortably, seemingly just unconscious. She put a hand on her cheek and then her and Clint heard a voice they'd been convinced they'd never hear again. 

"Daisy?" Not Clint, not Natasha, Daisy. 

Natasha forced herself to look up at the figure, her chest constricting and her vision blurred with tears.

"N...Natasha?" The voice whispered. "Clint?"

The assassins moved close to each other, holding their breath and in seconds there were two other arms wrapping around them. 

They whispered his name together. 

"Phil."


	27. Cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Natasha Romanoff hadn't cried often in all her years on this Earth.   
> She didn't like crying, it was messy and loud and generally uncalled for.'
> 
> Sometimes even deadly assassins need reminding it's okay to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Woo third chapter today! A little smaller, but angsty as fuck because I'm tired and cranky today. Please leave a comment if you enjoyed any of the chapters today! 
> 
> CRY

Natasha Romanoff hadn't cried often in all her years on this Earth. 

She didn't like crying, it was messy and loud and generally uncalled for.

It had been a year since she'd joined Shield and Clint was still trying to teach her that emotions were not a burden.

They'd been riding the high of a successful mission as they got back to Shield hq. One minute they'd been laughing and joking and the next a weight had settled on Natasha's chest and her throat was constricting. 

She exhaled shakily and as soon as the jet touched down, she skipped medical and rushed to her room. 

Clint had been hit on the head so he had no such look ditching medical, unable to follow her. 

She crashed through the door and slammed it behind her, sliding down the wood and burying her face in her hands. 

Stupid, stupid girl. 

You just completed a kick ass mission, you won and you're upset about it?

You're an idiot, Natalia, why can't you just be happy about something for once in your life?

Tears threatened to overwhelm her and she pushed herself up, moving to the little fridge in the corner. 

She poured a generous three fingers of whiskey into a glass and sat on the bottom of her bed. 

She drained the glass, the liquid burning her insides as she swallowed. 

Why can't you be happy? Why can't you ever just be happy?

Groaning, she rubbed her eyes and pressed hard enough to see stars. 

A manic laugh twisted in her throat and she stubbornly pushed back the tears pricking her eyes. 

She glared at the wall, gritting her teeth until the intense feeling at the back of her eyes had died down. 

She poured herself another glass, draining it quickly before she decided to get changed. 

Once in pyjamas, her own, and stubbornly not in any of the clothes Clint left over, she took the bottle, forgoing the glass, and crawled into bed. 

When Clint finally turned up, knocking once and entering using the key code they both had, she was suitably drunk, blaring some sort of Russian heavy metal music.

The archer stepped in, raising an eyebrow and grabbing a clean glass off the side.

He silently padded over, shedding his Shield outfit and in just his boxers, sat beside Natasha, on top of the covers. 

The redhead said nothing, tipping her head back to drink more whiskey straight from the bottle. 

Clint reached over and turned the blaring music down to suitable levels, taking the bottle from her and pouring his own generous glass. 

"Should you be drinking with your head injured?" Natasha finally spoke, the slightest slur to her words. 

"Medical cleared me." He shrugged, taking a sip of the golden liquid.

Natasha rolled her eyes and the pair sat with only the music for a good ten minutes. 

"What's going on, Tash?" Clint asked quietly.

The redhead shrugged, staring down at the bottle. 

"Nothing."

"Really? Cause you're playing your angry music and drinking a bottle to yourself." 

"I just..." She inhaled and maybe it was the alcohol or maybe she was sick of hiding her feelings, she talked to him.

"I'm sad. All the fucking time. Always sad. Christmas? Still sad. Good mission? Still fucking sad." She mumbled, shaking her head. "Always just so fucking sad."

"Well I'm no shrink but Tash, you've been through a lot." He shrugged, taking a sip as he thought carefully about his next words. 

"Depression is a bitch. It makes everything...worse. Bad things are catastrophic, good things are just...okay, neutral." He said quietly. 

"I'm never neutral. I'm always...down, upset, not happy." 

"Never?" He asked softly. 

"Okay. Maybe I'm exaggerating." She grumbled. "I do feel happiness. Sometimes. But...but when I should feel happy. Like now, I'm just sad." She mumbled, her voice thick and her eyes wet. 

She was drunk and upset and she was trying to stop the tears again but...

"It's okay to cry, Natasha." Clint whispered and then he was enveloping her in a hug.

"Being sad is okay. But Nat...being sad all the time isn't good for you. Promise me you'll go see the therapist?" He asked softly, her body shuddering as she nodded, desperately held out on crying. 

"It's okay." He soothed, "It's okay to cry." 

She couldn't hold it in, and soon she was sobbing, crying desperately into his chest. She took loud, gulping breaths, quivering as she wept. 

He held her through it, murmuring softly to her. "Crying is good sometimes. Therapeutic. Holding it in is bad for you, it's okay, I've got you."

It took a good half hour for Natasha to cry herself out, falling asleep against his chest with her face still wet and her nose running over his bare chest. 

He didn't care. 

He would always hold her if she wanted. Would always be there to remind her it was okay to cry.

He wouldn't 'fix' her, wouldn't try to. 

She would help herself.

Save herself.

But he would always be there to help her help herself.

Always.


	28. Withdrawal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha is badly hurt on a mission. She hates the way the meds make her feels so she tries to take herself off them. It doesn't go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Not sure if anyone is still reading this but here's day 27! Ps, I have been through withdrawal so I know what I'm writing (I never had seizures but with extreme withdrawal it can happen)
> 
> WITHDRAWAL

Natasha had been badly hurt on a mission. Her left leg had shattered, her spleen had ruptured inside her, at least six ribs had been broken or cracked, her wrist had been fractured and she'd gone through multiple surgeries. 

It had been two weeks since her last surgery and she was still in medical, hooked up to multiple IV's giving her medicine. 

Her injuries were healing nicely and the doctors had decided she was awake and coherent enough to take her own pain medication. 

They removed the needles and handed her a little cup with two tablets (a painkiller and muscle relaxant), and a little cup with liquid morphine. 

Natasha had been suitably loopy since she'd woken up and was just starting to wake up from the haze she'd been in for the past two weeks.

She didn't want to feel that way at all. It was awful. Her mind would be fuzzy and every movement she made was lethargic and disjointed. 

She cheeked the meds, the morphine burning her tongue. When the doctor left, she spat it all out under her pillow and leaned back against the bed frame. 

Sure, she knew that she shouldn't just stop taking meds, she should taper it down. But she couldn't feel that way anymore. The meds had made her weak, had let her mind wonder to places she didn't want her thoughts to go. 

She was the Black Widow. She didn't need medication. Her body would handle the pain and deal with it on its own. 

Half a day passed, and Natasha was in an immeasurable amount of pain. 

She gritted her teeth and bared it.

That's when the shaking started.

She couldn't get warm, her fingers numb as she pulled the blankets up to her chest.

Clint had been sleeping in the chair beside her, waking when Natasha's shuddering knocked his hand from his face.

"Wha'?" He jerked up, blinking. 

"Nat?" He asked softly, frowning as he reached for her. 

"Jesus, you're shaking." He said softly, doing what she couldn't and pulling the blankets up to her chin. 

Her face was slightly green, a layer of sweat covering her skin. 

"Are you in pain?" He frowned, glancing at the chart. "You're probably due some meds, do you want me to get them?"

Natasha shook her head, swallowing hard. 

"No." She growled, voice low and shaking. 

"Natasha what's going on? You're in pain, you need the meds."

"No." She said, firmer this time. 

Clint sighed, rubbing his face. "Fine. Fine, okay. For now." He said quietly. 

He saw the moment her face twisted and she grabbed herself tightly. 

He had the waste bin under her chin just as she threw up.

He soothed her softly, brushing her hair back and rubbing up and down her back.

His worry grew, because now she'd thrown up what meds he thought she had taken. 

"Tash, maybe we should ask to put the IV in again, just until you're less nauseous."

She shook her head no, her teeth chattering as she sank back against the pillows. 

Clint pursed his lips and gently touched her cheek. 

"Fuck, Tash, you're burning up." He exclaimed, pressing his cool palm against her forehead. 

"I...I'm f...fine-" She shuddered.

"You're clearly not." He said quietly, tucking the blanket under her chin. 

"Will be. Just...power through." She grunted, barely hiding a wince. 

"The lights..'' She mumbled. "Turn them off. Please."

Clint did that, frowning again. She hadn't hurt her head so it didn't really make much sense it would hurt now. 

"I really think I should get the doctor. Please, Tash, they can help." 

She shot him down again and he sighed, slumping back in his seat. 

The next half hour, Natasha seemed to get worse. 

She couldn't stop shaking and when she spoke, it took her a long time to get the words out correctly.

Her skin was the palest he'd ever seen and she was continuously dry heaving into the bin.

He brushed her hair back, rubbing his fingers over her scalp, worry twisting his stomach. 

She looked like she'd fallen asleep, but Clint knew she wasn't. She'd closed her eyes, even the dimmest lights hurting her eyes. 

When she next rolled over, her cheeks were wet. 

"Talk to me, Natasha." He said softly, touching the back of her neck.

"Don't...want t...to be...fu...fuzzy 'nymore." She whispered, teeth gritted. 

"I know it's not nice, you know I do, but Nat you're in pain." He whispered. "You threw up your meds and now you're in more pain."

"Didn't." She mumbled.

"Didn't what?"

"Throw them up."

"What do you mean, Nat?"

"Didn't t...take 'em in the f...first place." Her voice was slow and thick, hard to understand. 

"Jesus Nat, what were you thinking?" It made sense now. She hadn't taken meds for what? Half a day? And now on top of the pain, she was going through withdrawal. 

"That's it, you're getting meds. You know you have to taper them off, you can't just stop."

"I know." She whispered weakly. "Thought...I'd be s...strong enough."

"Natasha, you're the strongest person I know. But you're recovering from major injuries, the meds will help your pain. I know you don't like how they make your head feel but they make your body feel better right?"

"Y...yeah I guess." She sniffled. 

"Then isn't it worth it? I'll be right here. You can sleep through the worst of the haze, and when you wake up, we'll play games to distract you. I'll talk to you, sing to you, do anything you want." He whispered. "Please Nat, take some meds for me?" 

She didn't answer him and he thought she was thinking through it when she jerked under his hand. 

Her eyes were closed, her teeth biting into her lips as her body shuddered.

"Fuck-" he cursed, slamming the nurse call button. 

He ripped the blanket off her, making sure her head was cushioned as her limbs jerked and her body arched back.

"Goddammit Natasha." He hissed. Of course when she'd just been giving into the idea of drugs, she had to have a goddamn seizure.

The doctors pushed past him, sliding needles into her skin and shoving him out of the room.

...

Later that night, Natasha woke up. Her eyes were clouded as she blinked through fog, but her body was blissfully numb.

"Natasha?" Clint asked softly, cupping her jaw. "Hey babe." He murmured.

"C...Clint?" She frowned.

"You're alright. I know you're fuzzy right now, just focus on me. I'm here." He breathed, kissing the back of her hand. 

She said his name again, confusion evident. 

"You're okay." He reassured. "You're in the hospital, on some pretty kick ass pain meds. Just focus on me, look at me. Try not to think too much. Here," He hummed, minding her broken leg and other injuries as he sat on the bed next to her. 

"I'll tell you a story, hmm? Focus on my voice, close your eyes and let yourself rest." He said softly, brushing her hair and watching her eyes flutter shut. 

"Once upon a time..."


	29. Gagged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'She was Natasha. She was Russian and she was American. She had come from the Red Room and Shield alike.  
> She was her own person.  
> And nobody would ever take that from her again.'  
> Natasha and Clint travel to Russia to hunt down the Red Room. Natasha discovers something about herself and Clint is a proud boyfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Welcome to day 28, only two more after this! I'm gonna miss writing every day. Russian translations: Vy gotovy podchinit'sya? - are you ready to comply? Da Madame - yes Madame Natal'ya, ty otdayesh' sebya Krasnoy Komnate? - Natalia, do you give yourself to the Red Room? Vy budete sluzhit' Krasnoy komnate - I will serve the Red Room

Natasha had no idea how the mission had gone to shit so quickly.

They were in Russia, going after one of the last Red Room heads left. 

Natasha had been tracking him for months and had finally got the go ahead from Fury to go after him.

Clint had obviously gone with her, saying she wasn't alone anymore. 

It had gone well enough to begin with. Natasha had played her Natalia card and met him alone in one of the very first training camps she'd lived in.

He believed that the Americans had burned The Red Room down to the ground and it was the perfect way in. She spun her tale of the Americans coming for her, torturing her and sending their men to Russia. 

She told him how she'd escaped so she could come back to him and fight as his side as the queen of the Red Room.

"Alexei." She'd grinned, trailing her fingers up his arm. "Aren't you glad I'm back?"

"Oh Natalia, you always were the best of them." He'd pushed her against the wall, his lips fire against her neck.

Then she remembered nothing, waking in the dark with a gag in her mouth and her wrists and ankles bound in chains.

Natasha lifted her head, squinting to try and peer in the darkness. 

It was impossible to see anything, but she could hear grunting off to her left. 

Her stomach fell.

Goddammit. Alexei had gotten Clint too.

Stupid, Natasha, should've known he wouldn't fall for it. You've lost your touch.

She couldn't speak around the gag, just let out garbled words to try and let Clint know she was there. 

The sound of chains rattling caught her attention as Clint tried to get over to her. 

A soft grunt of pain and a slam on the floor.

Natasha winced, sighing and pulling at the chains. They would not bend, would not break, she knew. 

She'd been chained to her bed every night for eight years and even when she had rubbed her wrists bleeding and raw, they would never move.

Her heart hammered in her chest, fear crawling it's way through her body.

She shouldn't have come, or she shouldn't have agreed to let Clint come with her.

Alexei was brutal, cunning and deadly.

It was a testament to him that even Natasha hadn't know they were being played right back.

She sat in the dark for a good few hours, just thinking and thinking.

When the door opened, she heard rustling and then bright, harsh overhead lights were flooding her vision.

It took her a few seconds to adjust and when she did, her eyes fell on Clint.

Her partner was sprawled across the floor, chained to the wall. He was covered in blood and she couldn't even find where he was exactly bleeding from.

A growl tore itself from her throat as Alexei strode into her view.

"Now, little Natalia. I have someone who has been dying to see you again." He crouched down, stroking the side of her face and sliding the gag from her mouth.

Natasha was sure her heart just about stopped when the woman walked through the door.

"Madame." She said quietly, her voice venom. "I thought you were dead."

"And I, you, Natalia." The woman purred, fingers gripping her jaw and forcing her head up. 

"Hmm." The woman hummed, eyes appraising her. "You are beautiful, Natalia. I always knew you would grow up to be the best."

Alexei had said virtually the same thing in her last memory.

"I'll show you just how good I am if you take these chains off me." She growled. 

She got a hard slap for that and in that moment, she was right back as a child, being scolded for not shooting fast enough.

She inhaled shakily, squeezing her eyes shut. 

"Now behave, Natalia. I wouldn't want to hurt your friend over there. Again."

Natasha opened her eyes, glaring daggers at the two bodies in front of her.

"He has nothing to do with this."

"Oh but he does.'' Madame grinned. "We found the bow and arrow in your room. Amazing tips, they had. Poison, explosives, very impressive. I assume they were meant for us? Or rather, Alexei over there." She tutted, nails digging into her jaw. 

"He had fun roughing up your friend. He put up quite the fight." She hummed. 

"Don't touch him." Natasha spat. "You're not living long enough to get out of here anyway. I didn't come alone. The Americans will be storming this place before you can make the front door." Natasha glowered, breathing hard. 

"Maybe I'd believe that, if I hadn't seen your room. One bag between the two of you, no phones, no wireless devices. You're alone out here." She purred, dropping her face. 

Natasha was silent. 

Alexei grinned from behind Madame, reaching down to pull the gag back into her mouth.

Then she was left alone in the dark again.

...

Natasha wasn't sure how much time passed. Maybe hours, maybe days. 

Alexei and Madame would come in often, sometimes one of them, sometimes both of them.

They would remove her gag and just talk to her, telling her stories from her past, remind her were she had come from, what they'd done for her. 

Every time they left, they would throw a kick or a punch at Clint, in front of Natasha so she could see and then they'd be in the dark again.

Natasha knew what they were doing. They were trying to bring Natalia out, get her back on their side.

They didn't know how hard Natasha had worked to get rid of Natalia. The intense re-conditioning she'd gone through. The therapies, hypnosis, and meds. The aversion therapy, the time she spent hours in cryo-freeze. The re-wriring that had been done to her brain, to her very being.

She would never be that girl again. Would never be Natalia. 

At maybe the tenth or eleventh time they came back into the room, Natasha was losing her patience. 

She'd been steadily distancing herself from Clint's pained moans. Had been sitting up straighter, had stopped looking them in the eyes and had stopped talking back. 

Madame and Alexei stepped towards her, the woman bending down and taking her chin again. 

She pulled the gag down and spoke in Russian.

Each visit, another code word. 

She was actually thanking Shield silently now, actually thanking them for putting her through all that shit. 

Because two years ago, those words would have sent her spiralling. She would have lost Natasha and become Natalia again.  
"Vy gotovy podchinit'sya?"

"Da, madam." She murmured, her gaze blank and her words clipped and cold.

She saw Clint stiffen out the corner of her eye. 

"Natal'ya, ty otdayesh' sebya Krasnoy Komnate?"

"Da, Madam." She tilted her head back. 

"Vy budete sluzhit' Krasnoy komnate?"

"Da, Madam."

Madame grinned at her, reaching back for Alexei. He handed her a key and she undid the chains around her wrists and ankles, taking her hand and pulling her to her feet.

That was when Natasha struck.

She attacked with all her being, coiled like a snake with all the grace she'd been brought up to have.

She was a spider, the spider, striking fear into the hearts of all those who opposed her.

She was a force to be reckoned with, deadly and precise. 

They may have trained her but they didn't stand a chance against Natasha.

They had taught her everything they knew but she had learned from Shield, from Phil and from Clint.

She was neither what they'd made her or what Shield had made her. 

She was Natasha. She was Russian and she was American. She had come from the Red Room and Shield alike. 

She was her own person. 

And nobody would ever take that from her again.

Three minutes passed and Madame and Alexei lay broken at her feet, as she stood over them, victorious and enraged. 

She spat at them, grounding her heel into Alexei's chest.

Clint watched her, and in that moment he knew why she was called An Avenging Angel back at Shield.

Her teeth were bared as she growled, her red hair pushed off her face and blowing in the draft from the door. She was standing tall, her head high.

She was the strongest person he knew.

She slowly turned to him and once he would have been afraid she wasn't Natasha any more. Now, he just smiled at her.

She pulled the gag out of his mouth and he could finally speak. 

"Natasha, you're fucking amazing." He grinned.

She tutted and knelt down, key in hand as she undid his chains. She touched his chest and pulled it up to examine his injuries. 

He'd been stabbed, and beaten a whole lot but he would be fine. They'd intended for her to kill him, so they'd left him alive.

"Come on." She said softly, winding her arm around his waist and lifting him to his feet. 

"Let's get out of here." He hummed, nudging her shoulder. "You okay?"

She looked back at the bodies, blinking and nodding. 

"Yeah." She murmured, meaning it.

"I think I am."


	30. Outnumbered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a mission gone awry, Clint and Natasha are tested with four rooms. Each hold an important Shield agent and they must play on their strengths and work together to free them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Enjoy day 29 and prepare yourself for there only being 2 more after this, I'm gonna miss it

Clint and Natasha were not strangers to be outnumbered. They would come out of a fight twenty to two relatively unscathed, 30 to two and they were worse off, 40 to two and they were hopelessly, hilariously outgunned.

They fought valiantly, taking down more than half of the agents before they were taken down themselves. 

Natasha managed to grunt into her comms for Coulson to send in the damn reinforcements already before pain blinded her and everything darkened.

...

"Natasha? Nat, you with me?" A voice finally filtered into the darkness and Natasha groaned softly in response.

"Thank fuck." She heard as she struggled to open her eyes.

"Natasha please, The B team is trapped, they can't get in, we're on our own."

That got her attention and she forced her eyes open, ordering her muscles to stop their bitching as she sat up.

"What's going on?" She mumbled, rubbing at her temple and hissing sharply through her teeth.

"They blocked the way in, Coulson is on the outside and we're stuck in here."

"Great." She grunted, tugging at her wrists to find them bound with rope. 

Compared to chains, ropes were easy.

Clint had obviously already gotten his off and Natasha took a few seconds to wriggle out of hers.

"We took down half of their men and they leave us in the corner barely restrained?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, nothing about this seems right. Comms have gone dead." Clint murmured, heaving her up to her feet. 

She took a moment to settle the swaying of the room and frowned. "The door is open. What the fuck is this?"

Everything about the mission screamed trap.

"You first." Clint said dryly, sweeping his arm in the direction of the door.

Natasha rolled her eyes and took cautious steps to the light.

Their weapons were gone, even the ones hidden under clothes so they weren't stupid, they were...what? Testing them?

The assassins headed into the corridor, exchanging silent words.

There were four rooms coming off the hallway and a quick check in each one showed them one of their own trapped in different ways.

Phil tied up with steel chains.

Maria behind a glass wall with seemingly no way in.

Melinda May strapped to a table, leather bindings around her body.

And lastly, the one that made the least sense, Jasper Sitwell behind metal bars.

Natasha went back to Clint, shrugging her shoulders.

"This makes no sense. It feels like some sort of fucked up...test." 

Clint rubbed his face as peered into each room. 

"They're all in different restraints. We have to figure out how to...get them out, I guess." He frowned, rubbing a hand over his face.

"So...espionage, breaking and entering, they're playing into our strengths." She murmured. 

"I guess we take it one room at a time." He shrugged, on edge.

Neither of them liked not having all the details.

They entered the first room, Carefully looking over Phil. 

"Vitals are strong, he's just unconscious." Natasha murmured. 

"Scan the room." She told him, waving her hand to the left side.

It took them thirty minutes at least to find something to pick the locks on the chains.

When they did, it was a bobby pin, high up on the ceiling, Clint's forte. 

They would have missed it if Clint hadn't insisted on climbing up there. 

Natasha sharpened the pin on the wall and then Phil was free. They left him against the wall, moving to the next room.

Hill was next, behind a pane of glass that wouldn’t even crack as they threw their weight against it.

Natasha pulled Clint back, inspected the joining where the wall met the clear material.

She checked every seam and every inch of the glass before humming. 

"I...think it's just...a balance thing. It doesn't make sense but go to the very right of the wall, press one hand on the glass, one on the wall. When I say push, push."

Finding loopholes- Natasha's forte.

All their weight on one place wouldn't do anything. If they spread their weight against the weakest parts...

"Push!" Natasha ordered, on the left side of the wall. She could just feel the glass give a little.

"We need more." She murmured, taking a step back before running and slamming into the glass. A large crack appeared where she'd landed and she grinned despite the pain from what she was pretty sure was a dislocated shoulder. 

She ran into the glass again, Clint doing the same.

Soon the glass was splintering and cracking into larger pieces. 

Hill wasn't in restraints so they pulled her over to the door and moved to the next room.

May, strapped to a table.

Natasha threw her hand out as Clint moved to touch her. "No, don't. Something isn't right with these bindings."

She frowned and looked around the room, in the corner was a stick.

She raised an eyebrow and picked it up, trying to figure it out.

It was thin, would be no use as a weapon. 

Finally it clicked and she pressed the end of the stick to the binding around Melinda's waist.

The bindings moved, flexing up and wrapping around the stick.

"Fuck." Clint grunted from beside her. 

"Yeah, fuck. If we touch them, they'll wrap around us and we'll all be stuck here." She sighed.

They sat down in the corner, silently thinking for at least twenty more minutes.

"Maybe the bindings are just meant for one person. If...if we both touch them together..." Natasha murmured.

"Maybe we can break out of them." Clint hummed, nodding. "We've got no other option." 

They stood and walked towards May. They held hands and one the count of three both reached for the bindings. 

In seconds, the material was flexing and moving, winding around them and knocking them to the ground. 

"Don't let go of my hand!" Clint grunted, straining and fighting.

It took all the energy they had but after a few minutes of frantic struggling, the bindings began to snap.

Tired and breathing heavily, they dragged May off the table and to the door.

The last room. Sitwell behind metal bars.

They immediately began searching, combing the floor and ceiling for anything to use. They came up empty.

They'd been searching for an hour, had gone through all the previous rooms and the corridor, still finding nothing.

They sank down in the last room, Natasha's head bleeding again. She was visibly flagging and her eyelids fluttered despite clinging to her desperate control.

That's why she thought she'd imagined what she'd seen next.

There was a tiny window in the last room, one they'd both tried to pry open but it was so small they would've never been able to climb through anyway.

But the sun was setting past the window and as the sunbeams filtered in through the window, they didn't shine on the bars like they should have.

Natasha frowned and forced herself to her feet, dropping down and touching a hand to the bars. 

"You have got to be fucking shitting me." Clint growled from behind her, reaching towards them too. 

He pulled the bars apart easily, eyebrows raising. 

Natasha felt herself giggle, almost hysterically. "They're rubber!" She laughed, throwing her head back and giggling. 

When she'd controlled herself, they pulled Sitwell into the corridor. 

"Now we figure out how to get out of-" Clint froze as a figure stood behind Natasha, a gun pressed to her temple.

"Sitwell what the fuck are you doing?" Clint growled, taking a step forward. 

The man's eyes flashed. "I see you liked my test." He breathed. "I wasn't sure you'd pass all four rooms but I hoped you would."

"You did all this?" Natasha spat, fists clenching. 

"Why?" Clint glowered.

"I had to prove you were the best to them." He pointed to a wall behind him.

They watched with wide eyes as the wall they'd been in front of slid open, revealing the thirteen agents they hadn't managed to take down. 

"Why?!" Clint spat again.

"Because I'm getting a fucking amazing price for you." Sitwell grinned. "But I needed to prove you were as good as I'd said. Are we done here?" Jasper murmured, pushing Natasha to the men.

His mistake was letting go of the oy leverage he had. 

Clint struck, Natasha not far behind. 

Sure, they were outnumbered. Most of the time they were.

But they'd already taken most of the agents earlier and now, it was a piece of cake with rage burning through their veins.

By the time the men were dead, Sitwell had tried running.

He was stopped by three very pissed Shield agents.

Hill, Coulson and May had him in hand so Natasha didn't feel bad about sinking into Clint.

She was exhausted, mentally and physically and she badly needed a shower and some food.

"Hey, Tash, we make a fucking awesome team huh?" Clint grinned, tiredly slinging an arm around her shoulders. 

"Yeah, Clint. We do." She murmured.

Then she passed out.

...

She woke up on the quinjet, bandages around her head, shoulder wrapped up, shivering under a thin blanket. 

She cleared her throat and elbowed Clint beside her in a chair. 

"Hey Hawk ass, I'm freezing, get up here and hug me." 

Clint hummed, sliding up beside her, encasing her in his arms. 

"Sitwell has fucking lost it. He started screaming when they hauled him onto the jet, May very happily knocked him out to shut him up."

"That was the most bizarre mission we've ever had." Natasha grunted.

"Agreed." Clint chuckled. "But, it did show us how well we work together. We match, two pieces of a fucking kick ass puzzle." Clint hummed, tucking his chin against her hair. 

Natasha snorted, closing her eyes and leaning into him. 

"Two pieces of a kick ass puzzle indeed."

//Can you tell I fucking hate Sitwell lmao. Also I have no idea what I just wrote so


	31. Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha and Clint are hurt, Clint is sleepy, Natasha is self sacrificing and they both love to cuddle.  
> Otherwise, the fic where Clint gets shot, Natasha looks after him only to get an infection herself, Clint spoon feeds Natasha and they cuddle until extraction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Welcome to day 30. Only one more! So remember to bookmark my page if you want to be notified of further fics!
> 
> WOUNDS

"If you dare fucking die on me, I'm hunting you in the afterlife and killing you myself." Natasha grunted, dragging Clint up the stairs and into their safe house.

She shoved Clint onto the single bed, grabbing the first aid kit and clambering onto the bed beside him. 

"Clint, eyes on me." She growled, nails digging into his jaw as she forced his face in her direction.

"Tryin' Tash." The archer slurred, his eyes glazed and drifting.

"Just keep looking at me." She ordered, pressing down on his side, not letting up even when he bucked under her touch. 

"Stop. Moving." She grit out, expertly replacing the bloodied gauze and pressing down again. 

"I need to get the bullet out." She murmured, rifling in the med case, pulling out a tiny bottle of vodka. 

"For me?" Clint grinned tiredly.

"Hell no, you've lost too much blood. This is for me." She hummed, winking as she tipped half the bottle into her mouth. 

She swallowed with a shudder and poured the rest of the liquid over the instruments in the med case. 

She unceremoniously shoved a strap of material in his mouth and jabbed a needle down into his side. 

"I know-" She whispered as he shuddered and arched up. 

"It's not much, but it'll numb the wound a little. I need you awake to tell me if anything feels wrong." She murmured, peeling back gauze, pliers in hand. 

"Alright, I can't wait. Bite down and try not to move." 

She braced her hand against his shoulder, pressing him into the mattress with one hand, the other digging into the bullet wound.

Clint grunted and bucked up despite his best efforts but he was weak with blood loss and she was stronger, holding him down. 

It took ten minutes to dig the bullet out his side and she finally dropped it in the trash can, pressing fresh gauze over the wound. 

"Clint, talk to me." She murmured, tapping his cheek. "How's it feeling?"

"Fucking...awful." He grimaced, trying to wet his lips. "But...doesn't feel like there's any issues."

Natasha let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, nodding and peeling back the gauze. 

"The blood is slowing." She hummed, beginning to calm down for the first time all day. 

"Now we obviously don't have blood here so you're staying in bed, drinking a lot of water and eating whatever I put in front of you." She said quietly. 

"I'm gonna stitch you up then you can rest." She brushed back sweaty strands off his forehead. 

Clint had already drifted off by the time she'd finished the stitches.

She brought the med bag to the little bathroom, the overhead lights harsh as she stood under them. 

She peeled off her bloody, sticky clothes, standing in just her underwear. 

She rifled through the bag, finding no more vodka or any alcohol and cursed, rubbing her forehead. 

At least an infection would be less drastic in her wounds than in Clint's gunshot wound. 

She silently gritted her teeth and set about wiping the scratches and grazes down with water from the sink.

Soon the porcelain was streaked with blood as she dug the needle in and out of her skin, expertly stitching up a deep cut winding over her hip and down her thigh.

One more set of stitches around her arm and then she was done, pressing the last of the clean gauze to the one worst cut, leaving another square for when Clint would need his wound cleaned. 

She attached it down with tape, biting her lip and wrapping tape around the stitches down her arm, figuring it would at least keep it clean. 

She set up the tiny camp stove, warming a few cans of soup over the flames. It took ages to get hot enough.

She sat on the bed, lifting Clint up into a sitting position. 

The next half hour was spent rousing Clint enough to get the soup and a couple glasses of water down him. 

She let him rest after that, quickly drinking her own soup as she set up a blanket on the floor. She didn't want to sleep in the bed and jostle Clint so the floor it was.

She'd had worse, she was indoors and even had a blanket so it was practically luxury.

She drifted off to the reassuring sounds of Clint's snoring.

...

Natasha woke up shaking.

Her throat felt dry and her eyes burned as she forced herself to sit up.

A quick look at her watch told her that she'd been asleep for at least seven hours.

She cursed, pushing herself to her feet. 

The air felt freezing so she wrapped the blanket around herself like a cape, tying it at her neck.

Another look at Clint told her he seemed well enough for actual food so she set up the stove again, a tin of stew on the flames.

She got a couple glasses of water into him and soon he was awake fully, blinking and rubbing his eyes. 

"Natasha?" He asked thickly, grimacing as he pushed himself up on his elbows. 

"Hey. You're alright, been sleeping for a while." She said softly. "You alright to eat yourself?" 

She offered him a bowl and he nodded, grabbing it and tucking in.

"Well you seem better." She smiled.

Clint paused with the spoon at his mouth. "Sorry." He said sheepishly. "Hungry."

"I know." She smiled, placing her bowl in front of him. "Here, you need this more than me."

Clint frowned, swallowing and wiping his mouth. "Tash, you gotta eat too." 

The redhead shrugged. "I'm not hungry." In fact, she felt incredibly nauseous and just the smell threatened to send her stomach rolling. 

Clint frowned as his tired gaze roved over her.

"You're sick." He said quietly, pushing the bowl away and reaching for her. 

She tried to shy away from his touch because she knew what he'd find, but his fingers grabbed her wrist. 

"Fuck, Tash." His eyes widened. "You're burning up, come, sit down." He tugged her wrist and she sat down without fuss.

"I'm fine." She said quietly, shaking her head. 

"No, you're not." He said firmly, raising an eyebrow.

"We ran out of alcohol." She shrugged. 

"Let me look." Clint murmured, pushing up the hem of her shirt. 

She sighed and let him pull it over her head.

His deft, calloused fingers lifted the one sheet of gauze, running around the wound. 

Frowning, he pulled up her arm, picking at the tape she'd unceremoniously wrapped around her forearm. 

She winced and hissed sharply as he began to pull it off. 

"I'm sorry." He said, more gentle as he pulled the rest of the tape off.

It was covered in blood and something green looking. The skin around the cut was red and warm when he touched it.

"Dammit, Tasha. Did we run out of gauze too?" He sighed, standing gingerly and taking her to the bathroom. It was a tight fit but they managed.

"I...I left the rest of it for you. We need to keep your wound clean and dry." She shrugged as he picked the gauze up. 

"Yours need to be clean too." He tutted, sighing as he ran the tap. 

He wiped her arm with water and tissue, wincing sympathetically. 

"Shield is coming tomorrow." He said quietly. "Use the gauze, it's already infected, we can't let it get worse."

She sighed. "Split it. Maybe there's enough for both of us to use."

Clint narrowed his eyes but complied anyway, cleaning the wound the best he could, taping the gauze over her arm.

He dragged her to the bed next, laying down and encouraging her beside him.

"Now, take these." He hummed, offering her two tablets. She didn't even want to know where he'd gotten them from but she trusted him.

Drowsy, she barely noticed as he lay wet tissue over her forehead. "Open up." He hummed, spooning stew into her mouth. 

She was too tired to argue so she let him, swallowing methodically until the food was gone. 

"Just a day till extraction." Clint murmured, wincing as he tried to get comfortable. "We can hold out."

Natasha hummed in response, shivering under her blanket cape.

It was how they worked. Sacrificed little things like gauze or stew for each other, they took care of each other and they always would.

Partners, best friends, boyfriend and girlfriend, wife and husband.

Soul mates.


	32. Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Natalia Alianovna Romanova and Clinton Francis Barton were no strangers to loss.  
> It permeated every part of their lives.'  
> A look into our favourite assassins' pasts, from childhood to present day.  
> 'Natasha and Clint had lost a lot in their lifetimes.  
> But they'd also gained a great deal too.'  
> An introspective into their losses/gains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Welcome to day 31, the final chapter! Don't forget to save my page if you want future updates of other fics. I have ao3 exclusive fics here at SophieRomanoff97. This last word came from best friend Cassidy, because I'm an idiot and didn't count correctly. There were only 30 prompt words but I couldn't leave you guys hanging. I think it's the perfect word to finish on.  
> Warnings for violence, rape/non-con, death, mention of a suicide attempt  
> Please drop me a comment if you enjoyed and tell me your favourite chapter! Enjoy

Natalia Alianova Romanova and Clinton Francis Barton were no strangers to loss.

It permeated every part of their lives and left them gasping for breath in hotel bathrooms.

Natasha had been three years old when she first felt loss.

She'd been sleeping in front of the fire, her little brother in her mother's arms as she rocked him to sleep as well.

Her father had been cooking them a late dinner, with whatever scraps they'd gotten from the market.

They didn't have money, but they had a roof over their heads and the kids never went a day without a hot meal in their stomachs.

Natasha had drifted to sleep with the beautiful sounds of her mother's singing in her ears.

She woke up to carnage. 

Their house was on fire, smoke was crawling its way into her mouth and filling her chest. 

She'd screamed for her mother, for her father and for her brother. 

She never saw them again.

She was pulled from the wreckage of her home, dragged across the dirt, mud and rocks clinging to her body. 

They'd held her metres from the flames, as she'd screamed until her voice had gone.

They'd put a bag over her head and she woke up chained to a bed in a room with fifteen other girls.

They told her her family had died but that she had been saved.

The first loss and maybe the hardest, losing her family.

She and Clint had both lost their families, though Clint's memories of his family were less than pleasant.

His father beat the shit out of him, his brother and his mother. 

His mother tried to protect them, but his father loved to hit something smaller than him.

For seven years, it had continued. 

Until the police man turned up at their door. 

His parents had died in a car crash and whilst Barney had never said he had anything to do with it, Clint suspected he had.

The loss he felt then was nothing compared to the loss of his brother. To him, his father had been an awful piece of shit and his mother had been weak and unable to protect them.

His brother had always taken his father's fists for him.

He and Barney had been alone for a year before child services started poking around.

They fled their home before they could be split up.

Barney brought a flier to him, the circus wanted performers. 

It was decided then.

They spent their next year at the circus. 

Clint found out he was actually good at something, archery, he only got better with each passing day. 

Soon the circus members were calling him Trickshot and he was one of the most popular acts.

That was when his brother left.

This loss was different, because Barney wasn't dead, not then anyway, but he was just gone one day.

Clint was left alone at the circus and soon they became tired of his tricks. 

But they refused to let him leave, he pulled in too much money. 

So he ran. Ran far away and tried to never look back. 

Loss didn't just come in the form of death, not always.

Natasha had learned to kill by the time she was five. She'd lost her innocence years before, but learning to kill was...it forced her to abandon any hope that her life would ever be happy again.

She'd lost not only her innocence, but had lost anything of who she had been born to be.

She'd lost her easy, happy smile. She'd lost her quick laughter and happy singing. She'd lost the memories of those who bore her into the world. She lost their voices, then their faces then even their names. 

She was twelve when they first forced her to have sexual intercourse.

It was another test. If the men didn't like her, then she wouldn't be put through the graduation ceremony because she would be dead.

Another piece of her innocence was taken that night, by a man thirty years older than her, with a sharp grin and malice in his eyes.

She'd excelled at it. The men and women loved her, always asking for little Natalia when they came to visit. 

She had lost her ability to have children, taken away with a three hour operation and a day of recovery. 

Her childhood stolen, her virginity taken, her innocence absolved.

Clint's story wasn't as harsh to him, but was still harrowing. 

He'd ran from the circus and had lived on the streets until he was sixteen. 

He'd lost a lot on the streets.

He lost his sweetness and his kindness. He stopped giving out spare food or change and kept it for himself.

He no longer stopped to chat with the other homeless, or to stroke the stray animals.

He was hard now, he had to be to survive in the cold, alone.

He lost who he was on those streets. Everything he had been had been stripped back until he was a shell.

Just a shell trying to live through each day.

On his sixteenth birthday, he enrolled in the army.

He lost his virginity three nights later, with a man he didn't even like let alone think was attractive.

But he was desperate for human touch.

He lost his self-respect that night. 

...

Over the course of their lives, Clint and Natasha had lost a lot.

One thing they'd lost and gained back was their want for life.

Clint had never attempted suicide but he'd thought it over a lot.

He'd wanted to die before.

He'd wanted to just not...live anymore. 

Natasha had tried to kill herself. One week after coming to America, she had attempted suicide.

Clint had found her and saved her life.

She'd wanted to just not be alive either. 

It had been one of the first fucked up things they'd bonded over.

...

Loss didn't always mean death.

But sometimes it did.

Phil had died and Clint and Natasha had once felt the sharp pain of loss.

They held each other that night, crying in earnest and lamenting everything they'd lost.

Innocence, childhood, lust for life, themselves, people they loved, who they were, Clint had lost his hearing, Natasha had lost a few extremities, and more.

Natasha and Clint had lost a lot in their lifetimes.

But they'd also gained a great deal too.

...

When an American agent turned up at her safe house in Russia, Natasha had thought she would lose the only thing she had left to give.

Her life.

But he had knelt in front of her, had put a hand on his shoulder and asked her to come with him.

They had gained back their want for life together, clawing desperately to everything they could.

They'd both gained Shield, and a handler whom they loved very much.

They would lose him later, but that gain had been worth the pain when Phil was gone. 

They had gained a job they loved. They fought for people who couldn't fight for themselves and yes, maybe they had been Hydra all along but they had helped, saved so many people it was almost worth it.

They gained friends, friends they thought they'd never have.

Maria Hill, Nick Fury, Bobbi Morse, Melinda May, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Thor Odinson, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes.

They gained a team, and a family. 

They gained status. They were The Avengers and they saved lives.

They gained fans. They got piles and piles of fan letters and gifts.

Natasha and Clint were richer than they'd ever been, in more than one way. 

They had lost so much but gained so much more. 

Most importantly, to them, they had gained each other.

They had gained themselves back, had clawed and fought to get back what they'd lost as children. 

With each other to help them, they slowly, piece by piece, got back who they had once been. 

Together, they could do anything.

Together, even the harshest losses were a little better.

Together, they would face every loss coming their way because what they had gained together, would never be lost again.


End file.
